


Promises and a Table for Two

by soyforramen



Category: X-Men Evolution
Genre: F/M, Marriage of Convenience, Remy wants to be free of his father, Rogue wants control, long con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2019-10-09 13:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17408051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyforramen/pseuds/soyforramen
Summary: After graduation, Rogue goes on a road trip to escape the madness of the institute. But a chance meeting with a certain Cajun, and a promise that could change her life, throws everything out the window.





	1. Offer, or Southern Tin Kitsch

Rogue fought back a yawn as she eyed the run down restaurant in front of her. As hungry as she was, this sort of place wasn’t her idea of a homely establishment, especially after eating her fill of Kentucky BBQ in Louisville the past three days. And as good as the food had been it hadn’t been enough to extinguish the sense of homesickness she’d carried around the last few weeks. 

She’d been roaming about aimlessly for the past six months and it wasn’t until the holidays came and went that she’d begun to miss the chaotic nature of the institute. Her longing for a reminder of home was probably why she’d agreed to come to this run-down restaurant in the first place. That and the fact she never could say no to the mansion’s other resident Southern. Though she and Sam shared few interests, the one thing they could bond over was the North’s inability to properly brew sweet tea and a mutual hatred of chili that was more beans than meat.

With a sigh of resignation, Rogue cut the engine to her bike and pulled her bag from the storage compartment. Despite her longing for home (she refused to call it homesickness), she was still stubborn enough to see through the next three months of her tour across the States. If she went back now it would only further the idea that she needed to be taken care of and looked after. You lose control of your powers twice after saving the world from a domineering maniac and suddenly everyone in the mansion turned into a doting mother hen. 

And it hadn’t helped that she and the other X-Men were household names now that the news finally realized how close the world had come to ending. It was only in the past half year that Rogue been able to go anywhere without being recognized and she’d jumped at the freedom it offered, selling the Professor some bullshit line about needing to find herself away from the rest of the mansion. Now, though, she’d have gladly traded eating alone in this dump for the hustle of trying to get a bagel in the morning. If she was lucky tonight would be a highlight in an otherwise uneventful trip, but knowing Sam’s ability to exaggerate it was more likely she’d end up with indigestion. 

A light wind picked up as she began the long slow walk towards the entry way and she pulled her coat closer around her to fight off the chill. She might have promised to eat here but that didn’t mean she had to be pleasant while doing it. 

“Mais, jamais d’la vie! Didn’t expect such a pretty face t’be greetin’ me this far from home,” a man drawled from the alley way behind her.

Every hair on Rogue’s neck stood on end at the voice and she fought to keep her body relaxed despite the anxious chatter the sound had kicked up in her head. “Can I help you?” she asked tightly, shifting her stance as she turned towards the shadows.

A sharp flare came from the alley, the light caressing the lines of the man’s face before disappearing. Her jaw clenched as brown eyes peered out at her. “Sure hope so, p’tite.”

Rogue narrowed her eyes at him. “The hell you doing this far from the swamp, Gumbo?”

Gambit only grinned and pulled the cigarette from his lips to let out a stream of smoke. “Could ask the same of you. After Area 41 I’m surprised the spook’s letting any of ya’ll out to play.”

“Go fuck yourself, Gambit,” she snarled, turning on her heel before she gave in the urge to kick his ass. Leave it to that coward to bring up the worst incident the X-Men had to date. The memories still haunted her; the afterimages of the experiments were burned into her mind deeper than any psyche. It left a bitter taste in her mouth when she thought of it, a taste that even the best Southern bourbon couldn’t wash out. 

She’d gone two steps before a light touch on her wrist made her pause. “D’sole, Rogue. I only know what they reported on the news,” he murmured. 

Rogue jerked her hand away and tried to force the tension from her shoulders. “They had those kids strung up on the walls like slabs of meat. Those tests they were running,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as she fought back tears. “They weren’t anything more than lab rats to them. Most of them were younger than Jaimie, just looking for a hot meal and a place to sleep after being kicked out of their homes for being mutants. The bastards didn’t even have the decency to bury them, just shot them and threw them in a pit to rot when they weren’t useful anymore. Bet the news skipped that part,” she said bitterly.

“Didn’t know it was anything more than a botched recon mission. I should have been there,” he said. His voice carried more of an apology than she realized him capable of. 

Rogue swallowed hard and blinked back her tears. “Yeah, well. You would have if you’d ever answer your damn phone.” 

When he didn’t respond Rogue walked into the restaurant without a backward glance.

xxxxx

To call the bar nee-restaurant a dump would have barely scratched the surface of what greeted Rogue. Pieces of junk from every era hung from the ceiling, a miserable ode to bygone eras where everything appeared to be made from tin and kitsch. Dust clung to everything higher than six feet off the ground while spiderwebs drifted lazily in time with the fans. 

“How many?” the older, bored woman with frizzing grey hair asked as she approached.

“Just one, please,” Rogue replied. Her bag caught something and she jerked back only to find a stuff possum grinning up at her. 

“Your friend ain’t joining?” the woman asked, her eyes shifting towards the door. Rogue blinked in confusion. A soft touch at her wrist and a wash of tobacco smoke let her know she’d been followed. 

“Damnit, Cajun. Get your sleezy hands off of me,” she hisssed. 

For once Gambit let go without a word. Rogue turned to face him, fists clenched in anger. He held his hands in front of him at shoulder level and Rogue couldn’t decide whether it was an offer of peace or a defensive move.

“At least let Remy buy you dinner,” he said when she didn’t strike him.

Rogue stared at him long enough that the hostess cleared her throat impatiently. 

“Why?”

“To make up for his manners out there,” he said, tossing his head in the direction of the door. 

The hostess pursed her lips and stared between the two, obviously desperate for some sort of gossip in the sleepy town. 

Rogue ignored her and stared down the man in front of her. “What the hell do you want with me, Cajun?”

“Easy,” he said with a smirk. “Marry me.”

“So, table for two then?” the hostess asked, grabbing two menus and walking towards the back of the restaurant before Rogue’s shock wore off.

When she didn’t refuse him, Gambit’s grin widened and he held his arm out to her. Her lip curled in derision and she shoved by him, ramming her shoulder into his as she passed, hunger making her stubborn enough to refuse to be the first to leave. With any luck he’d get the hint and leave, though Rogue knew from prior experience she wouldn’t be rid of him until he’d said his piece. True to form, the thief slid into the seat across from her and it was all she could do to keep from throwing the table at him. He matched her glower with his own steady gaze.

“Whatever it is you’re on about it ain’t funny. You know as well as I do the chance that’s ever gonna happen for me is slim to none,” she growled, her accent thickening in anger. He idly watched as she ripped the menu open and steadfastly ignored his presence. 

“Not tryin’ to be funny,” he said. 

At his soft tone, Rogue glanced up at him. “Then why -“

“Drinks?” a bored teenager interrupted, tapping his pen against a pad of paper in irritation.

“Two whiskeys. Neat,” Gambit said, never taking his eyes from her. The waiter wandered off without bothering to check for I.D. 

Rogue pursed her lips and stared at the man in front of her. “The hell you going on about now, Gambit?”

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. In the brighter light of the restaurant it was apparent he hadn’t slept in days, let alone had a proper shower in twice as long. “Got backed into a corner I can’t get out of by myself,” he admitted sullenly. Before he could say anything else the waiter came back and set the drinks on the table, walking off before Rogue could ask for anything else.

“To family,” Gambit said bitterly. He raised the glass in a mock toast before knocking back half the glass. 

Rogue ignored her drink in favor of glaring at him from across the table. She was tired, hungry, and in desperate need of a shower herself after driving nine hours to the middle of B.F. Kentucky. Any patience she might have had was quickly beginning to evaporate. “Tell me what you want or I’m leavin’,” she warned. 

When the Cajun didn’t respond, Rogue shoved her chair back and stood up. “Whatever it is you’re playin’ at, I don’t want any part of,” she told him, grabbing her bag and turning to leave.

The sound of a chair scraping against linoleum rang out as Gambit grasped at her arm. “Rogue, please,” he rasped. “At least hear me out.”

Rogue ripped her arm from his for the third time that night and gave him a long hard look. In the short time she’d known him, Gambit had never looked this desperate for salvation. Ever since they’d come to some strange understanding at Blood Moon Bayou he’d always had an easy grin and a devil-may-care attitude that was the envy of half the guys on the team. 

His desperation scared her and, despite her own misgivings about the thief, she was concerned about the man in front of her. Lord only knew what he got up to when left to his own devices, but as far as she knew the man only had himself to rely upon. He’d long since cut professional ties with Jean Luc, but he’d never been able to cut out his family entirely. If things were bad enough for him to seek her out for help - 

‘He isn’t your enemy, Rogue. All he needs is someone that will listen and believe in him,’ Xavier’s soft voice whispered. If he does need help that you aren’t able to provide, we’re only a call away.’

‘Don’t turn your back on him, Stripes,’ Logan countered. ‘He has no loyalties to anyone but himself.’

‘Even though he saved Kurt in Alaska and totally injured himself in the process?’ Kitty shot back loudly, her argumentative tone riling up the rest of the more fully formed psyches. 

Closing her eyes tightly against the rising tide of voices, Rogue focused on drawing her mental shield around herself. It took far more effort now that she’d gotten into the habit of letting them chitter amongst themselves while on the road, but slowly they began to fade into the background. When the voices were barely more than whispers Rogue sat back down, pointedly ignoring the concerned look that crossed his face.

“Me askin’ that wasn’t just small talk, Gambit,” Rogue began, adopting the tone she usually reserved for training sessions with the new mutants. “Tell me what’s goin’ on, now, or I will be out that door in five seconds. Even if I have to take you out to do it.”

Gambit sighed and ran a hand through his hair as he picked at the table linoleum. In this moment he looked more like the twenty year old man he was rather than one of INTERPOL’s most wanted. In their line of work it was far too easy to forget just how young they all were. Instead, it was easier for her to label him as an untrustworthy, selfish thief rather than to admit to the similarities between them. Despite her mistrust and misgivings about his intentions, he had proven time and again that he would be there when she needed him, so long as he could be reached.

‘And he did send you all those books when you were in the Medlab last time,’ Kitty softly reminded her, slipping away before Rogue could react. 

Her decision made, Rogue reached for her own glass of whiskey. “Just because I’m still here don’t mean I’m agreein’ to anything,” she reminded him. 

“Je connais,” he murmured as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He brushed his thumb against its end and watched it burn for a moment, lost in thought. “M’ember the Rippers?”   
Rogue gave a small nod when he glanced at her. “Don’t know how much you picked up, but that’s the street arm of the Assassin’s Guild. Jean Luc’s decided fightin’ with them’s bad for business and he’s decided to offer up an olive branch.”

“Let me guess. You’ve the dove to deliver it,” Rogue said slowly, already knowing the answer. She knew first hand what went on in the Guild Master’s head after the last time she’d been dragged into one of Gambit’s schemes. The ghost the master thief had left behind had been so well versed in the art of manipulation, a month after Rogue had absorbed him she found herself halfway home with stolen jewelry before realizing what she’d done. Once she’d finally put the pieces together, she’d sought out the Professor and together they’d been able to purge most of Jean Luc’s psyche. At times he still appeared, whispering suggestions that even her mother would be proud of.

“Oui.” Gambit nodded and pulled at his cigarette. “Only this time he’s decided that I marry the heiress of the Assassin. ‘For the good of us all.” He gave a dark chuckle and sipped at his whiskey. “Un jolie petite chose who’d rather castrate me than say hello.”

Rogue watched his face as he spoke, looking for any sign of deception. As if sensing her disbelief Gambit’s psyche, barely a whisper even directly after absorption, brought forward an image of the woman in question. A blonde slip of a woman, no older than Rogue herself, who looked more the type you’d pay to babysit your kids rather than someone who’d slit your throat for a buck. Yet Rogue was far more aware than most that appearances weren’t always what they seemed.

“And what does she want out of this?”

“Wealth. Fame. Blood. Preferably mine,” the thief said with a shrug. “Known her since we were kids. Thought I loved her once.”

“And now?”

“Now I wouldn’t even wish her on Tolansky,” he said wryly.

Rogue snorted and sipped at her drink. “Sounds like she and I might get along.”

At her words, Gambit leaned back in his seat and appraised her. Despite her discomfort, Rogue refused to fidget under his gaze. “You probably would,” he decided.  
Ignoring the implication of his words, Rogue cleared her throat. “If you don’t want to marry her just tell them you’re not gonna do it. They can’t make you marry her if you don’t want to.”

Gambit snorted. “You forgettin’ how the family works. You do what you’re told. No other option if you want to live.”

“Then come back to New York. The Professor will take you in. His offer doesn’t ever expire.”

He shook his head and flicked the ash off his cigarette. “And bring the Rippers up with me? Won’t work. They’ll be after blood if I run, and won’t think twice about killin’ anyone in their way. I can’t do that to you and yours after everythin’ y’all’ve done for me.”

“And what makes you think they won’t come after you or your ‘new wife’?” Rogue asked, still trying to figure out why he’d ever think she’d agree to marry him.

Gambit shot her a conspiratorial wink and threw back the rest of his drink. “If she does go after me or my ‘new wife’ she’d be the one throwin’ down the glove. Guild law states that anyone married into the family is off limits for thievin’ or killin’ unless agreed upon beforehand. And if that rules broken -“

“Exile,” Rogue said, the knowledge spilling off her tongue as Julien whispered half forgotten tales of past guild wars in her ear.

He gave her a sharp look and nodded. “And the only thing Jean Luc and Marius agree on is that they’re good Catholics who pay their tithes and say their Hail Mary’s. And good Catholics don’t ever condone bigamy. Or divorce. Leavin’ me with only the legal way out.”

“Betcha’ ain’t never said that before,” Rogue muttered.

Gambit smirked and waved down the waiter for another round. While he ordered, Rogue played with the condensation on her glass. The story he’d laid in front of her was outlandish at best. At worst it was a fever dream of a man she already suspected to be recklessly insane on a good day. For all she knew this was yet another of his attempts to drag her into helping him with another questionably legal scheme. It wasn’t above him to give her just enough rope to hang herself on his half-spoken truths and convenient omissions.

And yet he’d come to her with this ridiculous scheme. It wasn’t as if it was the first, or last, time he’d asked for her help. Rather, it was the fact that he felt he was forced to go to this extreme, him the consummate bachelor escaping to something he’d sworn off long ago. In all his other schemes he’d been nothing but brass tacks and bravado, so sure in what he was doing that everyone else went along with it regardless of whether it made sense. But now there was something else to his schemes, something that he wouldn’t tell her until they were neck deep in trouble and she needed him too much to be able to kill him when she found out.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Gambit was lacking in options in the ladies’ department. Hell, half the girls at the institute would gladly trip over themselves and each other to be able to have dinner with the man, let alone be propositioned by him. The last time he’d been at the mansion, Jublilee and Amara had even gone so far as to try and spill all manner of drinks on him in the hope he’d take off that dingy jacket of his for once. The question for now was what was the carrot in all of this? The thing that made him so cocky, so sure that she’d agree to his scheme?

Her curiosity finally got the better of her and she leaned back in her chair. “What’s in it for me? What could you possibly offer that could tempt me into marriage and waltzing into a den of thieves to save your sorry ass?”

Gambit gave her a tight smile and despite her tough facade, Rogue found herself holding her breath as she waited for his answer. 

“Simple, p’tite. Control.”


	2. Acceptance, or Helluva a Wedding Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wheren Remy explains his plans and Rogue's face with an offer she can't refuse.

“What?” Rogue whispered. She felt as if she were drowning in her expectations as her heart began to tamp out a staccato beat. Control was the last thing she’d have imagined him offering, the only thing she wanted more than anything.

Having caught her attention, Gambit leaned closer as a ghost of a grin sprang onto his face. “Guild legend says the ’sassin’s have a stone hidden away somewhere. Say they’ve used it to give people their heart’s desire. Power, money, fame.” 

His voice was soft as he spoke, his brown eyes boring into her. Try as she might, Rogue found herself unable to draw away. Her body felt like someone else’s as she leaned towards him, her hands drawing tighter around her glass as she listened. 

“Heard tell it made a woman fall madly in love with a man. Leastways until he did something the ‘sassin’s didn’t like and they took her love away. Then she went after him with a butcher’s knife and they’re still dredgin’ up pieces of him whenever someone gets a hankerin’ for gator.”

Rogue scoffed, the spell he’d woven over her now broken by his crass humor. Of course the man would lay the solution for her life on the table in front of her then remind her it was nothing more than an old wives’ tale. The reality that her powers would likely never be controlled hit her hard once more, and she tried to ignore the ever lingering thought that she’d never be able to touch again. 

“Those fairy tales are about as usefl as tits on a boar hog,” she scolded, embarrassed she’d let herself get taken in by the showman in front of her. 

Gambit only smiled and slid a cell phone across the table at her. She looked at him curiously as she picked up the phone. A video was queued up, the stilled frame showing an empty warehouse lot at dusk. Rogue raised a questioning eyebrow but hit the screen to play the video.

At the five second mark, a figure with long green hair stepped into the frame. The camera zoomed out to show a warehouse not more than a hundred yards away. With a piercing shriek of metal on metal, the warehouse collapsed in on itself. The camera stayed focused on the pile of metal until an offscreen voice ordered, “Again.” The camera shifted to a second warehouse, already falling in on itself.

Rogue watched enthralled as the screen slid to the right, the green haired figure now framed by the silhouette of a third warehouse. With little more than a flick of the wrist, the final warehouse fell in on itself.

The figure turned, a bored look on their face as if this was nothing out of the ordinary. Sirens cut through the air, and the woman was bathed in white light from above. Without ever looking up, she tilted her head and a helicopter came crashing down onto what was left of the third warehouse. Flames began to flick upwards as the screen went black.

Rogue hit play once more as Gambit began talking. “Polaris, a.k.a. Lorna Dane. Able to move small amounts of metals susceptible to magnetic forces, up to three pounds. Able to manipulate said metals in small quantities. Powers manifested in her third year of college during the interview process for a Master’s placement in geophysics. Able to produce a low level forcefield when placed under adequate stress. Delta class mutant,” he rambled off, his voice flat as if he were reading off a file. Probably memorized from Magneto’s intel based on the mutant classification system.

“Least she was until about six months ago,” Gambit continued, his voice slipping back into his natural patois. “Julian went looking for a mutant to manipulate metal and found Lorna Dane. Wasn’t able to do much more than bend spoons then. Three months later and Polaris makes her debut on the Gold Coast, taking out buildings and goverme’t airplanes.”

Rogue hit the play button again, this time slowing the video down to a crawl. “Why you tellin’ me this?” 

“Good ‘thority says the stone created Polaris. And rumor has it Julian’s back in Louisiana with the stone.”

Rogue blew out a breath and set the phone down, the video still playing. “Rumor’s been saying a lot lately. Might want to learn how to keep it’s mouth shut. That all you have to offer me, Cajun?”

Gambit stubbed out what was left of his cigarette. “Worth a look into, don’t you think? Better than that meditation the spook’s having you do.”

She scowled at his reminder of the Professor’s ‘training’ sessions. Despite her faith in her mentor, some part of her couldn’t help but agree with Gambit’s assessment. So far, meditation hadn’t done anything for her mutation aside from quieting the crowds in her head. “Still don’t explain why the X-men missed such a powerful mutant.”

He shrugged and leaned back into his seat. “Who’s to say they haven’t? You been on the road, what, four months now? Polaris might be snug and cozy in your old bed for all you know.”

“Please. If there was a new mutant at the mansion, Kit would have already told me everything there was to know about her,” Rogue scoffed. Despite her nonchalance, Gambit’s words had already hit their mark. Rogue hadn’t heard anything much in the way of mutants or missions since she’d left. The students knew all too well that the less said about mutants the better, especially when it came to open communications systems like telephones and computers. “And your little video doesn’t prove a damn thing. Roberto and Ray could have photoshopped that in three days. Tops.”

Gambit’s face lit up at her challenge and he dragged the phone towards him. He tapped a few times at the screen and pulled up a different video before placing the phone back in front of her. Grudgingly, Rogue pressed play.

On the grainy video the green-haired woman - Polaris - was seen rising above a rooftop, a time stamp dated about a week ago in the bottom left corner. For a moment the woman scanned the scene, looking for something. The moment she spotted the figure behind the camera, Polaris went into a sprint and the picture began to shake as the person filming began to run. Rogue glanced away. Shaky cameras always made her nauseous.

“Here,” Gambit said after a few seconds to bring her attention back to the phone.

The screen showed a mostly empty parking lot from above, likely placed there after the mad sprint. Polaris hovered above the car lot, easily picking up cars and tossing them to the side as she searched for something. A dark figure slipped through the cars behind her, leaving a trail of magenta light in his wake. A few seconds later an explosion shook the camera, tilting the camera almost 90 degrees. Gambit reached for the phone and rewound the video to the moment just before the explosion. He pressed play once more, this time at one-tenth of the speed. As the explosion slowly blossomed out, Polaris pulled metal scraps towards her only to bend each into a spear that was sent back towards the explosion. A moment later the camera went black.”

“Last Tuesday in Montreal,” he murmured.

“Do I want to know what you did to piss her off?” Rogue asked. She pulled off a glove and rewound the video to the moment before the explosion.

“Moi? Piss a woman off? P’tite, why you always gotta be thinkin’ the worst of Remy?” he asked in faux outrage.

“Cause Remy never done nothing to prove otherwise,” she shot back. “This still don’t prove anything.”

Gambit shrugged in disbelief and slipped the phone back into his pocket, ignoring her protest that she was still watching it. “Don’t disprove it either.” 

A silence fell between them and Rogue stared at the pocket he’d slipped the phone into, wondering how long he’d stick around after failing to convince her.

“Tennessee next?” he asked after a while.

Rogue narrowed her eyes at him. “Thought you gave up stalkin’ me for Lent.”

“Remy never stalks,” he reminded as he lit another cigarette. “He only acquires necessary information. Besides Chicken Fry owed me a favor and I decided to collect early.”

Rogue ground her teeth at the realization that Sam had set her up. Next time she saw him Rogue swore to make sure Sam knew the consequences of leaking information to outside parties, regardless of the kind of favor owed.

“And here you, occupyin’ my time, and breathin’ my air. Without any sort of proof that rock of yours did anythin’ other than two videos with bad graphics. Wouldn’t be surprised if you hitched her up to some pulleys and paid some kid fifty bucks to make that up.” Gambit raised an eyebrow at her obvious attempt to irritate him, but said nothing. Rogue forged ahead, trying to convince the both of them the video wasn’t worth the price he was asking.

“‘Sides, even if that Polaris is a mutant that don’t mean those powers aren’t the result of a growth spurt or some hormonal thing. Last time Bobby shot up two inches he froze over the entire mansion for two months. In June.”

“She’s twenty-eight.”

Rogue froze. Polaris was far too old for a growth spurt. And according to the little she’d been able to understand about Mr. McCoy’s lectures, that meant Polaris’ powers should have been stable. The likelihood of an adult coming into or advancing their mutation was impossible.

‘If I may?’ Mr. McCoy’s specter began, far too polite to ever butt into her own thoughts. Rogue gave a small mental nod and cut her eyes down to the glass in front of her. ‘It’s not impossible, per se, for an adult to develop latent mutant powers. It’s merely unheard of for someone to come into them naturally. Advancements like the ones Mr. LeBeau is claiming have so far only come about due to outside influences, such as genetic manipulation or large hormonal imbalances. One’s mutation is, for a lack of a better term, switched on during puberty or early adolescence as the body’s hormones began changing. Hence why one’s X-Gene commonly begins to express itself during one’s early teens.’

‘And this rock he’s goin’ on about would be one of those outside influence?’ 

‘Indeed, though I would not be able to form an adequate conclusion without seeing it in action myself. For now, I would advise treading carefully, my dear, as there is no guarantee that this rock of his has any lasting effect, nor is there any way of knowing the repercussions it may bring it one may come into contact with it,’ Mr. McCoy said. He slipped to the back of her mind, leaving behind only an image of Astroid M and the sorrow of his own failed attempts at controlling his own mutation.

Oblivious to her inner conversation, Gambit slipped another cigarette between his lips. “Believe it or not, s’your call. ‘Nough proof for me to look into. Good authority says it brought the Kennedy’s into power, gave Napoleon an empire, made Hatshepsut a god among men.”

Rogue rolled her eyes and refused to let the spark of hope in her chest grow any bigger. “If this ‘good authority’ is another one of your contacts, pass.”

“Y’give up too easy, Roguey,” he chided. “At least ask what you really want to know before you turn me down so quick.”

She flinched at the temptation lacing his voice and reached to tug her glove back on. They both knew what he offered was something more than just a simple touch. That it was the same thing he’d offered the first time they met. Yet Rogue was happy pretending whatever it was didn’t exist and they were nothing more than occasional, forced colleagues.

“How do you know it works?”

Gambit grinned and Rogue knew he was trying not to laugh at her stubborn refusal to recognize the elephant sitting at the table with them. “Magneto’s files. All backed up by your Prof’s Cerebro.” Rogue stilled as he laid his hand on the table before her. “‘pparentally they both been looking for this rock a while, though neither’s come close to findin’ it. Buckethead went all over looking for it and managed to trace it to Peru before it disappeared in a puff of smoke. And Xavier hired someone in Australia last year to look for it after the number of mutants spiked down there.”

Rogue reached for her glass and drank deep to keep the sudden sting of betrayal at bay.

‘I had no way of knowing if the stone was real or merely a myth,’ the Professor’s calm voice whispered to her. ‘Without solid proof it would have been cruel to raise your hopes on such a gamble, especially when -‘

“But you know where the stone is,” Rogue said, her tone flat as she shut out the Professor’s plea for understanding. Gambit nodded. “Why should I believe you?”

“What other option do you have?”

None, she thought.

Rogue chewed at the inside of her cheek. If the stone was a big enough deal that both the Professor and Magneto tried to track it down, didn’t it mean it was worth going after? Almost 20 years old and she’d yet to have a ‘break-through’ with control. Everyone else who’d come through the mansion’s doors had long since surpassed her, and those that had stayed were on the team’s front line. Yet she was still a liability, her mutation only helpful if she could get close enough to steal another mutant’s power while keeping their mental imprint at bay. 

Lord knew she wasn’t any closer than when she’d joined Mystique at fourteen.

And she was tired. Tired of protecting everyone else from accidental contact. Tired of protecting herself from the never-ending onslaught of voices in her head. She was tired of the knowing looks during the summer, of the subtle space between her and everyone else. She was tired of landing herself in the Medbay when the voices became too much. She was tired of fighting off everyone who’d taken up residence in her head. 

But was she willing to marry Remy LeBeau of all people just for a chance at normalcy? More importantly, could she live with herself if she walked away from this offer? From the possibility of control and a normal life? Knowing she had this opportunity and let it slip through her fingers, could she go back to doing the same damn exercises with the same failed results the rest of her life?

The whole thing was ridiculous. That the notorious skirt-chaser, the man with a compulsive need to touch everything, had come to her. The woman who couldn’t be touched. The woman who traded intimacy for sanity. The idea of it sent a wave of wry amusement through her and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Gambit frowned, and Rogue wondered if it was because he thought she was laughing at him or if was concerned that she’d finally snapped. 

“Somthin’ Remy said?”

When she was able to breath again, Rogue shook her head. “This whole thing’s insane, ain’t it? You of all people wanting to get married. To me. The untouchable.” She snickered again and his frown deepened.

Instead of joining, he fixed her with a dark stare that quickly dampened her humor. “Who says I don’t want to be wit’ you, Rogue? Just because your skin can’t be touched don’t mean you can’t.” His honey bourbon toned licked flames down her spine and she fought back a shiver.

Her humor now gone, Rogue absently tugged at her sleeves to try and forget another man who’d told her the same thing. She knew firsthand just how touchable she could be, so long as her partner was brave enough to risk their life. 

“What’s to stop you from going out and finding someone you can be with?” she shot back, her voice heavy and thick. “Someone you can touch? I don’t take kindly to cheatin’.”  
Gambit’s eyes narrowed at her implied accusation. “Neither do I. Always a big believer in ’Til death do you part.’”

“Great, a thief with a morality code,” Rogue muttered. She dropped her eyes to the table between them, unable to hold his gaze. “Next you’ll be tellin’ me you been helpin’ lil’ ole ladies cross the street and fixin’ up broken down school buses in your free time.” Rogue glanced up to find him watching her. “How do I know this isn’t another play of yours?”

“You don’t,” Gambit admitted. He set his half-finished cigarette on the ashtray and laid his hands on top of the table. “Could get your answers the easy way.”

Rogue froze as he turned his hands over and set them in front of her, palms up. Curiously his hands were still gloved. With a start she realized that, like her, he never went anywhere without them. The only difference between them was the fabric of his covered all but the last two knuckles of his fingers.

A thin white scar ran along the side of his thumb and she stared at it to avoid meeting his eyes. “Why do you always wear gloves, Remy? It’s not like you need them,” she asked softly. 

When he didn’t answer she dragged her eyes up to meet his. At her question, Gambit’s face had hardened. To her surprise he slowly peeled his gloves off and laid them on the table between them as if he were a supplicant making an offering at a temple. 

“First time I charged somethin’ I damn near blew my arm off. Took three months to repair the damage in the sittin’ room.” His eyes dropped to stare at the gloves now trapped under his hands. “Kind of like your powers. ‘cept instead of takin’ something in, I give all I got.” 

He stilled as Rogue brought her own gloved hand up to trace the scared webbing along his left hand, barely a whisper of air between the two. 

“Couldn’t touch anythin’ without blowin’ it up,” he continued, his voice low. “Clothes. Forks. Pillows. Touch some time, but finally figured out I couldn’t blow up anything natural. Wore kid gloves for almost three years straight. Was so scared to take them off I even wore them in the shower. ‘ventually I learned how to pull the charge back in, but by that time I was so used to wearin’ ‘em I never stopped.”

“Why cut off the fingers then?” They both watched as her fingers danced idly along one particularly nasty scar that went almost to his elbow. Gambit shuddered at her light touch and Rogue yanked her hand back, her cheeks aflame at the look in his eyes.

“Have to touch somethin’ to make it burn, sha.”

Rogue reached for what remained of her whiskey and finished off the glass. The cool burn did little to alleviate the heat his eyes left on her skin. “Still don’t explain why you’d want to be tied to me the rest of your life.”

He chuckled, and the sound of it razed a burn deeper than his eyes had. “’m a thief, ‘member? And a mutant. If I’m lucky, I’ll see this side of thirty.”

“Funny, I thought I’d make at least thirty-five with the X-Men.” 

Gambit gave her a wry grin and waved down the waiter. While they waited, she thought his offer over. There were worse things, she decided. It wasn’t as if she despised the sight of him. He’d made it clear enough in the bayou that if she wanted him to leave her be all she had to do was say the word and he’d be out of her life forever. And he certainly never said they had to act as if they were married. From what he’d said the fact of a marriage was enough to keep him out of his family’s drama. Besides, it wasn’t as if they couldn’t annul it when everything was said and done. He’d never said anything about staying in the marriage. She could pay the price of a few years for a lifetime of freedom.

“If I do this it don’t mean I’m gonna’ sleep with you,” she finally said.

He jerked his head to look at her. As a grin slid onto his face, Rogue felt as if she’d lost a battle she hadn’t even know she was fighting. “Never said you had to. All Remy’s askin’ is you sign where they tell you to, raise your right hand, and when they ask tell them, ‘Why yes, I do take this handsome gentleman for my husband.’”  
Rogue scowled and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. “Didn’t think they took kindly to lyin’ under oath.” At his questioning look, she added, “You ain’t any gentleman that I’ve ever met.”

“But I am handsome,” he said, looking as pleased as a child being realizing they were getting cake for breakfast.

“Never said otherwise.”

With the grin still on his face, Gambit stood up and laid a few bills on the table. It wasn’t until he was halfway towards the door that Rogue called out to him. 

“What if this rock of yours turns out to be nothin’ more than a faberge egg? What if it doesn’t work?”

Gambit turned, and Rogue realized that he had been wondering the same thing. “I’ll go to the ends of the earth and back to find somethin’ that will.”

He sounded so sincere Rogue almost believed him.


	3. Consideration, or Would You Like A Happy Meal With That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Rogue and Remy sign their nuptial paperwork

Rogue sat in the parking lot across from the courthouse, her long coat pulled tight against her to guard against the damp February wind. She arrived forty minutes before it opened and found Remy already there, leaning against the building. Since then, she watched as he chain smoked. There was a tenseness in his shoulder she'd only seen during fights. He knew she was there watching him, but he never gave any notice to her. Probably expected her to turn tail any minute now, away from him and his crazy schemes and back to her comfortable, mostly normal life.

To his credit she still hadn’t heard a peep from him since he’d texted her three days ago. Rogue had assumed there’d be a text on her phone this morning, something meant to sway her, to remind her how desperate this situation was for him, but she’d only had Kitty’s usual ‘Good morning!’ text to greet her.

She sighed and tugged her scarf closer to her neck. It had been foolish to let him sit down with her at the restaurant. To even listen to his offer. He was tempting enough before. Now with the added allure of touch Rogue couldn’t help but wonder if she was about to make a deal with the devil himself. And the longer she sat the more she realized just how stupid it had been to come here without letting anyone know where she was. Or rather, who she was here with and why. 

It was damn right dangerous to even begin to consider walking into that building with him, and yet she couldn’t seem to resist. For the first time in her life she had the possibility of control. It was far-fetched, sure, but it was still more than she’d ever had before. Even a slight possibility was too much to give up.

The more she thought about it, the better his offer seemed. No more waiting around for some miraculous ‘breakthrough’ in her psychological makeup. No more experiments or blood draws. No more knowing someone’s favorite ice cream and darkest secret without asking. No more avoiding crowds, or friends flinching at accidental contact. No more self-imposed isolation from friends and family to save them, and herself, from physical contact.

If she were honesty with herself, she knew she wasn’t here because of his flimsy promise of control. It was more than that. Remy wanted her, the untouchable, as she was now. Without control and with at least a dozen people running amuck in her head. He knew about her past, her anger issues, all of her worst qualities, and yet he still wanted her.

Or at least he thought he did. And that was still more than anyone else had ever offered. In her previous relationships they’d thought that with enough motivation Rogue would have a breakthrough of some sort. That she’d be able to get to a place where she could touch, even if it was only for a few seconds. The less said about those relationships the better.

And it didn’t help that Rogue was more than just physically attracted to the man. Despite their differences they were able to connect on a level no one else at the Institute seemed to understand. Both knew their share of heartbreak and disappointment, and both had come out of it stronger. And despite their constant bickering there was something just below the surface, some ability that knew how and when to help the other. Even with the fallout that came from the mission to Alaska two years ago, Rogue had a connection to Gambit she’d never had with anyone else since Logan. Since Risty.

Still they’d never been anything but decent to each other. Rogue certainly hadn’t gone out of her way to make him feel welcomed or comforted. Whoever this woman he was running from was had to be something else if Gambit was turning to Rogue for this. 

The more she thought about it, the more it felt like a fitting trap for the both of them. Her wanting nothing more than touch, him needing something more stable than his family was willing to offer. The only question to ask was what did either of them do that was so horrible as to deserve this?

Rogue quickly shook those thoughts out of her head. That type of thinking wouldn’t do either of them any good. They were both trapped in their own ways. Him by his family. Her by her mutation.

Her decision made, Rogue stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder. In less than a minute she’d made the walk over to him, and without a word he handed her a thin box no bigger than a deck of his playing cards. Curious, Rogue opened it and found a matching set of rings nestled on velvet.

“What’re these?”

“Rings,” he said through a puff of smoke.

“Thank you for clarifyin’ that,” she scoffed. Rogue picked up a ring and turned it over in her hand. The ring was thin, no inset stones or raised metal. Just a metal circle inlaid with some sort of archaic symbols she couldn’t quite make out. The longer she stared at it the more the symbols pulled at memories that weren’t hers. Before the memories took over,  
Rogue set the ring back into the box. “You steal these from some happy couple?”

Gambit shook his head. “Non. Guild law says a thief pays for his weddin’ bands with his take from his first job.”

She snorted and snapped the box shut. “Guessin’ McDonald’s had a slow day.”

“Not ‘less they bring in enough for adamantium,” he said without elaboration.

Rogue almost dropped the box in shock. “Do I want to know what you stole to pay for these?”

Gambit grinned at her as he took the box back from her and slipped it back into his coat pocket, amusement in his eyes. “If I told you I’d have to kill you,” he joked. 

“Damn near did last few times I was near you,” Rogue said with a scowl. The wind shifted and she leaned on the building next to him, his tall frame acting as a wind break. The noise of a waking city filtered around them while they waited for the courthouse to open. “How do I know you ain’t anglin’ for somethin’ with this whole set up?”

“C’mon now, Roguey, you don’t think I’d harm a pretty face like yours?” he said with a grin. Rogue stared at him until his grin fell. “Din’ think you’d actually come.”

She turned her eyes to the traffic in front of them, not liking how serious he looked. “Yeah, well. Neither did I.”

“‘m glad you did,” he said softly.

Rogue shrugged, unsure of what she should say to that. “Ain’t leavin’ the X-Men.”

“Never though of askin’ you to.”

A group of employees passed them on the sidewalk and the pair fell silent.

“This whole thing’s insane,” Rogue whispered once they were alone again. Gambit’s silence was agreement enough. After a few heartbeats, she found the strength to continue. “I got conditions if we’re gonna do this,” she warned. 

“Only sensible way to do it,” he said. Gambit dropped his cigarette and ground it underneath his boot before he turned to face her.

Rogue nodded, trying to recall the fancy arguments she’d come up with last night. Lack of sleep, anxiety, and confusion make her tongue heavier than lead and she had to swallow a few times. “I pick if, when, and where we tell my people about this. Not you,” she said. 

Gambit nodded and lit another cigarette.

“No more lyin’ to me, Cajun. And none of those omissions or side-steppin’ you seem so fond of, either. I ask a question, I expect a straight answer.” Rogue paused, waiting for an argument that doesn’t come.

“That goes both ways, p’tite,” he murmured. “You ain’t ‘xactly been forthcoming with me either since we first met. Or should I bring up D.C. again?” 

His words dredged up a tinge of regret that Rogue quickly quashed. If he really was as good of a thief as he claimed she never would have been able to give him the slip during that Pentagon lockdown. Besides, it wasn’t as if he’d gotten caught for too long.

Instead of arguing, Rogue nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth so long as you do the same.”

“That’s it? No fightin’ about keeping your past a secret?” he asked lazily.

Rogue glared at him. She knew he was trying to pick a fight, to make her storm off in anger so neither of them would have to go through this. It’s not the first time he’d tried to chase her off, but it would be the first time she didn’t take the bait. Not when his offer was something she couldn't seem to shake. 

“I said ‘fine,’ didn’t it?”

Gambit grinned, knowing he won the point. “Anythin’ else?”

Rogue looked away to keep from slapping the smirk off his face. “Promise you won’t do anythin’ stupid on my behalf. You’re a damn sight more reckless than I care for, ‘specially when you get cocky. I know you made some pretty promises the other night but I ain’t having you die on my account.”

“D’accord,” he said, his tone lighter than air. Gambit stubbed out his half-finished cigarette on the brick wall behind them and stood up straight. Now that he’s not slouching or leaning against something, she realized he’d grown at least another inch since the last time she’d seen him a year ago. “Ready to hear my conditions?”

Rogue couldn’t help the snort that escaped. “Don’t think you’re in any position to be making demands, Swamp Rat.”

Gambit narrowed his eyes at her. “You ain’t the only one puttin’ it all on the line, River Rat. Or did you forget the reason you agreed to be here? Ain’t just your life on the line, chere,” he spat.

Something clenched in Rogue’s chest at the possibility of losing the little hope she’d built up on his offer. She bit her lip before her tongue can ruin things for her.

“Don’t ask questions about my past. There’s thing’s there you ain’t got reason to know about.”

Rogue sucked in a sharp breath, irritated he was already trying to back down on his agreement. “I’m not gonna’ be lied to again, especially not by you, Cajun,” she hissed.

The muscles in Gambit’s jaw twitched and his eyes flared in anger. For the first time his anger was directed at her and a small voice reminded her he was called ‘Le Diable Blanc’ for a reason. Rogue fought the urge to step away from him.

“And I’m tellin’ you not to ask me ‘bout what I’ve done in the past,” he shot back. “Ask me ‘bout anythin’ from here on out, but my past is off limits. Thing’s I’ve done could get that pretty little head of yours in worse trouble than you been in lately if you knew anything about it. Same goes for anythin’ I learn that ain’t mine to tell.”

He cut her off before she could argue. “And that goes both ways, Rogue. Anythin’ you might learn from touchin’ someone is off limits. That ain’t yours to tell to begin with. And I won’t ask you anything’ about your time with Mystique. Cause you can’t tell me you two were just doing macrame and pasta art when you were with Destiny and Mystique, unless military weapons caches and government warehouses started holdin’ summer camps.”

This time Rogue took a step back. “How’d you -“ Her question faltered before it ever began. How he ever knew about her time with her foster mothers, she couldn’t figure, but it was a secret she couldn’t afford to let lose. As far as she was concerned that was something she’d turned her back on, just like she’d turned her back on the idea of ever being ‘normal’ again. 

Gambit let her stew for a bit, waiting on her answer. Stiffly, Rogue nodded and he continued. “After this, we head down to get things squared away so there’s no doubt about this marriage. Otherwise Remy ain’t gettin’ out of N’orleans any time soon.”

“Fine.” It was easy enough to agree. She’d known it was coming. After all, there wouldn’t be much point to getting married if there wasn’t also a family reunion after to prove that Remy was no longer on the market. “Anything else?”

“Oui.” Gambit paused as he searched her face. “Give this a chance,” he finally said. He gestured to the space between them.

Rogue stared at him, unsure of what he meant. “Chance for what?”

“A chance to make this somethin’ other than just a business arrangement.” His voice was soft, pleading. Gambit lifted a hand to push Rogue’s bangs from her face.

Self-preservation kicked in and Rogue went completely still, breath held to avoid any skin contact as his fingers swept her hair behind her ear. Its the closest anyone’s been to her in a long time and her heart pounds hard enough to jump out of her chest, fear and anticipation mixing together easily.

“I care ‘bout you, Rogue, whether you want to believe it or not. Wish we could’a gone about this the normal way, but that’s never an option for people like us. Think we could both be happy with this, so long’s you let it happen.”

Slow and deliberate, Rogue nodded, her stomach clenched. Gambit stared at her a moment longer before his hand dropped. Always aware of the space around her, Rogue took a step back and ignored his wounded look.

“Fine. But I’m not makin’ any promises.”

“All I can ask for.” Gambit gave her one more searching look and turned towards the courthouse. As she approached, he held the door open for her with a flourish. “After you, p’tite.”


	4. Acceptance, Part 2, or Plum Looks Good On You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein plans are discussed and feelings are avoided.

The courthouse clerk peered over her glass to stare at the pair in front of her, her face a picture of bureaucratic boredom. “Any objections?”

Rogue bit the inside of her cheek to keep from looking over her shoulder, convinced Logan would pop up any minute now to drag her back to sanity. When no one answered, the clerk stamped a few pages and mumbled the traditional, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Gambit leaned against the counter, a sly grin on his face as he waited for Rogue to make the first move. Her lip curled at his surety that she’d be the first to back down. More to wipe the smug look from his face than any real want, she reached up and cupped his face in his hands. His face softened at her touch. Careful to keep from touching his skin, Rogue pressed her lips against his in a chaste kiss. After four counts she pulled away.

The shocked look on his face is worth it, though bright plum really wasn’t his color.

It isn’t until she’s halfway down the steps of the courthouse that Gambit catches up to her. “Didn’t know you were gettin’ control on your own.”

Rogue shoved down the pang of guilt his psyche radiated at his words. Briefly, she wondered if the real one felt the same way. “I wasn’t,” she said, her words sharp and short.

“Then how’d-“

“Matte lipstick.” She picked up her pace towards the parking lot in the hopes he’ll get the hint. “Gives enough of a barrier to allow for a few seconds of contact.”

Gambit stopped on the edge of the road and Rogue turned to look at him. The fire was back in his eyes and it sent a shiver of something through her. 

“Think I can work with that,” he muttered. 

xxxx

“C’mon in, chere. Only the best to celebrate out nuptials,” Gambit said. He held open the door to the old Denny’s for her and dropped into a low bow.

When he told her of a good place to eat, she’d expected something a bit more upscale than this. At the sight of the cracked plastic booths, Rogue’s lip curled. Compared to this place, Sam’s restaurant was a three-star Michilin. Somewhere overhead the heater choked into life.

The host gave them a questioning look, almost as if she wanted to warn them to turn back while they had the chance. Next to her, Gambit flashed a smile and held up two fingers. “Two, please.”

“Now what?” Rogue asked after they’d been seated and gotten their drinks. 

Across the booth Gambit leaned against the wall and stretched out his legs. “Now, we wait a few days.”

The plastic squeaked underneath her as she shifted. “Figured you’d wanna rush back home and tell everyone’s the weddin’s off.”

“Can’t do that,” Gambit said. “Go back too early, looks suspicious. Gotta have enough time to consummate the marriage or it ain’t valid. Remy’s got a reputation to consider,” he said with a wink. 

Rogue scowled and ripped open a set of sugar packets into her coffee. 

“'sides, we still gotta get our stories straight. How’d we meet. Fall in love. Propose, and all that nonsense,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“How I haven’t killed you yet,” she muttered into her coffee.”

He shot her a lazy grin. “’xactly.”

Rogue fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Might as well stick to part’a the truth. You first tried to blow me up me up, then kidnapped me into attending an impromptu family reunion.”

“After you kissed me,” he reminded her.”

“Don’t count if I don’t remember it.”

Gambit frowned, and it struck Rogue that they’d never talked about what had gone on between them before Apocalypse. In the weeks after the battle, most of the X-Men had shifted through reams of documents and video. Pyro and Colossus had stayed to help in the cleanup, yet Gambit had been curiously absent.

Before she could ask where he’d been, the waiter stopped to take their order. When he left, Gambit slid his feet off the booth to face her. 

“Can’t believe you’d forget your first kiss.”

Rogue couldn’t help but snort. “Why do guys always think they’re your first anythin’?”

Gambit raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t?”

This time she laughed at his blatant curiosity. “Not by a long shot. Cody Robbins. Behind the bleachers after homecoming freshman year. He tried it again a few months later and my mutation kicked in. You?”

“Belladonna.” He made a face as if the name was a bad taste in his mouth. “Tried protectin’ her from a bunch of thugs and she kicked all our asses. Kissed me when she saw me a few weeks later and realized who I was.”

“What killed the romance?”

He snorted and drained the rest of his coffee. “Kept after me even when I told her I was done. Girl like that won’t stop ’til she gets what she wants.”

“Sounds a little obsessed if you ask me,” Rogue said, curious about this mystery woman. 

“More like she knew what was coming quicker than I did. Growing up we were told family’s the most important thing, and she took it to heart better than I did. Marius saw us gettin’ close and decided it was easier to join forces than keep fighting.” Gambit played with his empty cup, his voice tight as he dredged up his past. “Even with knowing all that Bella got it in her head it was our destiny to be together. Think she really did love me, once. Least ways, as much as she’s able to.”

Rogue waited a moment, hoping he’d say something else. When he didn’t, she asked, “You don’t really like her much, do you?”

“Hard to like anyone who’s stabbed you in the back as many times as she has,” he said with a scowl.

“Well, I’ll be. A woman Gambit can keep his hands off of,” she teased. She gave him a small smile as she leaned back in the booth. “Wonder if it’ll rain.”

“Hush up and finish your coffee,” he snapped.

Startled by his abrupt change in manner, Rogue didn’t say anything else. Gambit always had been cagey about his past, an expert in sidestepping questions he didn’t want to answer. But this was the first time he’d reacted badly to a question. The waiter dropped off their plates and Gambit stabbed at his food, content to ignore her.

Rogue slipped off her gloves and cleared her throat. “Didn’t mean to offend.” He glanced at her briefly but didn’t say anything. “Cody’s still in a coma,” she said before taking a bite. 

This time, Gambit stared at her. Her words were nothing more than a peace offering, a bit of information in exchange for the little he’d told her. 

“He was AllState Champion that year. Already had a full ride to Ole Miss. His mama still visits him everyday after work.” Her tone is clinical and detached as it always is when she talks about someone she’s absorbed. It makes it easier, somehow, to strip the emotions from things. It’s been so long since she’d thought of Cody it doesn’t seem real, yet she still knows how his skin felt against hers. What it felt like to pull him into herself. The kick of power.

“After he graduated he wanted to get married. Reckoned himself half in love with me already and I just about killed him. We’d grown up together, two doors down from each other. I’d talk about running away to some exotic place, London or Marakesh. Anywhere but Caldecott. He made me promise to send him postcards. Don’t know if he’ll ever wake up. Doubt he’d want to see me if he does.”

Her words are cut off as a sharp, piercing pain shot through her temple. In the dark corners of her mind a scream rang out. Cody, she realized. Another shock of pain runs through her and she gripped the edge of the table to steady herself. One of her hands slipped through the table and Rogue jerked to sit up straight. 

Blood coated the inside of her mouth, her tongue an unaware victim of the pain. Rogue focused on the coppery sweet taste to keep her distracted from Cody’s own rage and despair.

“Rogue?” Gambit’s voice sounds like it’s coming from a fish tank, distorted and small.

Just as quick as he’d come, Cody gets swept along in the undertow of her mind and the pain recedes. Rogue opened her eyes to find Gambit half-standing over the table, his arm outstretched towards her. 

“Y’alright?”

Rogue waited a moment, just to be certain, before she nodded and lowered her arms. “I’m fine. I’m all right now. Just a side effect of the absorption.” With a shaky hand, Rogue reached for her water. She braced herself for the inevitable barrage of questions, but Gambit only leaned back in the booth and gave her an appraising look.

“How’s it work, anyways?” 

It’s a shock how easily he asks about her mutation, his tone no different than if he’d asked about the weather. There’s a part of her that’s relieved he wants to know how her mutation worked. Aside from the absorption part, no one ever seemed to care how it happened. The other part was irritated he’d ever asked in the first place.

As much as she wants to brush off his question, she did promise to at least try. 

“Depends on how long I touch someone. If it’s not more than a brush of skin, I only get a shadow of their personality, maybe a few memories. Any longer, or if I touch them more often, the more solid their shadow gets. Kitty and Logan are the most like themselves. Most days half the team is chattering on about something or another, but after this long they’re mostly white noise.”

“And when it’s not?”

Rogue picked at her food. Those were the days she didn’t want to think about. Those days meant being cooped up in the Medlab for over a week with a headache painkillers did nothing for. Every now and then it meant losing control of everyone else’s powers.

“When it’s not, my head feels like it’s about to burst apart at the seams. Someone’s always talking. Thoughts go by so fast I don’t know if it’s mine or someone else’s. Usually I just try and convince Mr. McCoy to give me somethin’ strong enough to keep me asleep until it passes.”

“What happens if you touch someone too long?”

She flinched. He’d finally got to the question everyone wanted to know the answer to. The one she tried her best not to think about. 

“Cody.”

Like her mutation, Cody’s personality had kicked through her in full force. In her head, he was exactly like he was when he’d been conscious. Sweet, naive, and not too keen on change. Especially when he realized he’d never again be in his own body. In the past five years, his personality had weaved together so finely with hers Rogue had trouble remembering whether she’d had a dog growing up or if it had been Cody who loved going to state fairs.

In the kitchen a plate crashed to the floor, and Rogue realized Gambit was staring at her. “Ain’t we supposed to be figuring out how we’re gonna convince people we’re in a relationship?” she snapped. 

Unperturbed by her change in personality, Gambit shrugged and cut into a pancake. “Figured you had a story already picked out. Doubt I’d be able to sweep you anywhere you weren’t willin’ to go.”

Rogue chewed for a minute while she thought about it. “How’s one usually go about it?”

“Long nights and drinkin’ too much?”

“Aren’t you the romantic. It’ll do, I guess. We got sent on too many missions and took a shine to each other. Started datin’ on the side and realized we could stand each other longer than a few hours.”

Gambit smirked. “And you call me romantic.”

She rolled her eyes and ignored him, not willing to be sidetracked. “Your family won’t ask for too many details, will they?”

“Might,” he said with a shrug. “We have plenty of time to figure that out when we get to town.”

“What about the proposal?”

Gambit shoved the last of his food in his mouth while he thought it over. “Candlelight dinner. Someplace nice, of course. Champagne, dancing under the moonlight.”

Something about the mundane, cliche scenario he’d presented made her laugh. “In other words play it up so no one finds out Le Petit Prince got drunk on Wild Turkey and proposed after getting kicked out of a bar.”

He grinned. “Who says I asked you?”

With a roll of her eyes, Rogue knew the story didn't matter. “Fine. I proposed. But you still said yes. Why you think they’re goin’ believe you of all people agreed to get married is beyond me.”

Remy batted his eyes at her in a crude imitation of a love struck teen. “Becouse, mon cher, light of my life, sun of my day. I’ve found my one true love. The woman I want to be with the rest of my life.”

“Pretty sappy, even for you.”

“No, no. Not sappy, Romantic. You’re too cold-hearted Roguey.”

Her chest tightened at the nickname. It brought up feelings she still hadn’t dealt with. Feelings she didn’t want to deal with. Feelings this trip was meant to overwrite.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Cold Hearted.”

Her frown deepened and she decided to let it go. If she told him what, exactly, he’d only start digging deeper into that part of her past, and that wasn’t something she wanted anyone to go into. She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “Anything else we need to cover?”

“Can’t keep calling me ‘Gambit.’ They won’t believe this is real if you keep using my work name.”

“Fine. No more Gambit, Ray-may.” She dragged the syllables out the same way Tabitha and Amara did when he came by the mansion. Gambit scowled at how badly she’d butchered his name and she snickered before asking, “What else do I need to know about your family?”

“Since you asked so nicely, Rouge,” he shot back. She pulled a face and he smirked. “You already know Jean-Luc.”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered.

“There’s Henri, my older brother. He’s been training to take over the guild. Married to Mercy, only non-thief in the guild though she has her own set of skills. They been married seven years now.”

“Kids?”

Gambit - Remy, she corrected - shook his head. “They been tryin’ but the doctors say it’s impossible.”

Rogue felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. She knew first hand just how badly it hurt to know the decision on whether to have kids was already made for her. “What about adoption? Or a donor?”

“Can’t. Henri’s the next guild heir. If he wants his kid to be recognized, it’d have to be natural born.”

“So who takes over? You?”

Remy laughed. “Not a chance. Before he could adopt me, the Elders made it clear I’d never be running the guild. Kinda happy about it now after seein’ what Henri’s havin’ to deal with.”

“Sounds like y’all been watchin’ too much Games of Thrones,” Rogue told him. The little she knew of the show came from Bobby and Kurt, and even with their explanation she still hadn’t been able to figure out what was going on.

“That show’s nothin’ compared to what the Thieves got going on. Though I’d suggest not sayin’ that around the Elders. Might ruffle the wrong kind of feathers.” He leaned over and picked a piece of bacon off her plate and popped it into his mouth.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut.” Rogue made an ‘X’ over her heart. “Anybody else?”

“Keep an eye on Etienne and Theo. And I’ll introduce you to Tant Mattie first. If there’s anybody you need on your side it’s her, so make sure she likes you. Officially she’s just the housekeeper. Unofficially she’s been keeping the Gulid running for years. You’ll be introduced to everyone else once the marriage is accepted.”

Rogue frowned at his choice of words. “And if they don’t accept it?”

Remy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Then we got bigger problems,” he said darkly. “Figured we’d wait three days before we head out.”

“What do we do until then?” 

“Whatever you want,” he said. He slid out of the seat and threw a few bills on the table. “I got business to take care of before we head out.”

“Not ever three hours married and we’re already seperated.”

Remy winked as he shrugged on his jacket. “Just means we get to make up that much sooner.”


	5. Jurisdiction, or Calling Cards and Étouffée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Rogue and Remy make it to Louisiana, and Mattie isn't as sweet as she looks.

Three days later the pair made their way to New Orleans. Remy had taken the lead as they passed the state line about midday, brazenly blowing through Louisiana at twenty miles above the speed limit in that ridiculous red Ferrari, Rogue a good half mile behind him for most of the trip. They didn’t slow until the exit to Tchoupitoulas Street. Rogue pulled close behind him, letting him take the lead. Here in the Crescent City it was Remy’s show, his play to put on while she was a mere actor. As much as she chafed from the lack of control, Rogue was savvy enough to know they’d only get one shot at this.

According to Remy’s unnamed sources the Assassins had the rock holed up in one of their gulf warehouses for the first time in years. All it would take would be to find out which one held it, and enough of a distraction for Remy to slip in, grab the thing, and hightail it out of the city before anyone knew what was going on. The damned fool made it seem easy enough. Rogue knew there was a catch to it somewhere, but she was far too stubborn to try and suck the answer out of him. 

Within a few minutes Remy turned into a courtyard, garden walls muffling the sound from the street. The first thing Rogue noticed was how green everything was, a stark contrast from the snowy, frozen landscape up North. Now that they were closer to the coast, the humidity stuck close to her skin and weighed down the air, a reminder that she was closer to home than she had been in years.

As Remy stepped out of the car two well-dressed men came down, eager to meet them. Remy took a piece of paper from one man’s outstretched hand, never once looking at him as pulled his rucksack out of the backseat. The other man stood a few feet away from her, smiling politely at her while she pulled out her own bags from the storage compartment. Rogue eyed him warily, unsure of what he wanted.

“They ain’t gonna steal it, Rogue,” Remy told her when he reached the valet stand.

“From a thief that don’t mean much of anything,” she muttered to herself. To the man, she said, “If anything happens, I’m comin’ for you first.” Rogue glanced at his name tag and set him with a glare. “Bill.”

The man only nodded, as if this sort of toothless threat came at him daily. “We’ll take the best of care wit’ it, ma’am,” he said, politeness oozing around his words. Like Remy, his accent had been softened from the harsh Creole brogue, probably to ensure more tips from the wealthy patrons they were used to getting rather than any time spent away from the city.

Rogue kept an eye on the man while she made her way up the steps. To her annoyance, Remy chuckled. “Don’t think he’s gon’ do anything with you watching him like that, petit.”

Her scowl deepened and she shoved past him through the open doors. At the sight of the lobby her mouth parted at its opulence. Unlike most hotels that had been updated for the modern crowd, this one felt like it had found itself permanently stuck in the 1920’s. Floral wall paper covered the walls while antique furniture crowded the bar. The whole scene felt as if it was inspired by one of Kitty’s period dramas. A floral scent graced the air, courtesy of an enormous vase filled to extremes with freshly cut yellow roses. 

A light touch at the small of her back made her jump. Despite her movement, the hand never lost contact with her. It drew her closer to Remy and her body stiffened at the proximity. Alarm bells rang out in her head, and she did her best to keep her breathing even.

“Might want to close that mouth ‘fore you start catching flies,” he murmured in her ear, seemingly unaware of her discomfort.

“And you might want to take a step back least I snap that hand off,” she snapped back. 

“Guild eyes are everywhere, Rogue,” he whispered in her ear. “At least try an’ act like you don’t hate me.” 

He dropped his hand as he brushed by, deliberately invading her space as he made his way to the concierge. 

“At least try and wait until we get a room before you start sayin’ those things,” he said in a loud enough voice that the bartender glanced towards them.

She flushed and stalked after him. Fortunate for Remy by the time she caught up he was already talking to the concierge in a French patois that she had trouble making out. Remy said something that made the concierge look at her and smile, and Rogue just barely managed to bit her tongue to keep from saying something rude. Instead, she gave the woman a terse smile and turned to face the lobby. 

Eyes were indeed everywhere. The bartender gave her curious glances in between cleaning glasses, while the doorman wasn’t even trying to hide his stare. She gave both a curt nod and swept her own eyes across the lobby. Now that she knew what to look for it was easy enough to see who was watching.

Rogue took a step closer to Remy in the hope his tall frame might hide her own. She pulled out her phone and, as usual, there were no missed calls. Oddly enough there were three texts from Kurt. Two were standard institute gossip (Amara and Tabatha were now, allegedly, an item according to at least three sources), but the last was a more guilt inducing request to call him least she forget about her own brother.

She snapped the phone shut and shoved it to the bottom of her bag, unable to think about talking to him now. What would she even talk about? At the mention of Remy, Kurt and Logan would both be down here quicker than she could finish the phone call. 

A light hand on her waist drew her attention back to Remy and the concierge who was now staring at her with open curiosity.

“You ready, p’tite?” Remy asked. 

Rogue nodded and followed him towards the elevators, murmuring a thank you to the concierge. Thirty steps, four floors, and another hundred steps more were spent in silence as the pair walked towards their room. 

Remy paused at the door, key card in hand, and gave her a sly look. “Think I should carry you over the threshold? S’tradition, after all.”

Rogue, tired and dirty from the trip, held her hands out. “Knock yourself out,” she said, knowing he wouldn’t take her up on the offer. 

Remy grinned and scooped her up in his arms, laughing at her squeal of surprise. “I didn’t think you’d do it, Cajun.”

“Gotta take the opportunity when she knocks,” he said. He shifted her onto his shoulder to slip the key card in the door and stepped inside. 

If the lobby was an homage to 18th Century French sitting rooms, the suite was a full blown reproduction of the Palace of Versailles. Remy set Rogue down and turned to check the door and presumably the rest of the room, while she went to the window and drew open the curtains. There beneath her was the thriving beat of the city. The harbor lay to her right, the neon sign of Harrah’s barely visible, and she could just make out the French Quarter ahead of her. To her left lay the business district, lined with modern brick and mortar buildings that were in stark contrast to the older, more distinguished buildings only a few miles off. 

When she’d had her fill, Rogue turned away from the window only to find Remy lying on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, stretched out as if asleep. With a sigh, Rogue turned away from the window and made her way to the bathroom, ready to get the dirt and grime of the road washed off of her.

Xxxx

Every nerve, every atom, every cell of her being is electrified, overfilled, ecstatic. Another ripple of pleasure courses down her spine and a gasp escapes her lips as a hand drags along her skin, gooseflesh laying a trail where it had been. A hand brushes her inner thigh, and her eyes fly open. Red on black eyes catch her own, entrancing her by their brilliance. The hand moves higher and she whimpers, stomach tightening in anticipation.

She trashes on the bad, sheets grasped tightly between her fingers. Her breath comes in hard pants, whispered demands falling from her lips like rain. 

A flash of lightening and a boom of thunder blur the image into a vague memory as consciousness floods in. 

Rogue sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. Thunder rattled the window pane and the darkness is broken up by flashes of lightening. She shivered and drew the comforter closer as she tried to remember what she’d dreamt about.

The room around her is silent and cold. Its dark in the next room, a sign that Remy's left for the night. She’s tempted to find him, to beg him to tell her that what they’re doing is going to work. The ghosts of an unknown hand have left their temptation on her skin, longing on her lips. 

The light clicked off, and Rogue laid back down. In moments she’s asleep again, and the dream is forgotten once more.

Xxxx

For the next few days, they’d wander about the city. Remy pointed out places of interest, historically significant sites and spots important to only him. They’d eaten some of the finest food in the city and heard some of the best music the Crescent city had to offer. Over time it became apparent that Remy was presenting her in some fashion to some as yet unseen presence. 

Rogue could only wonder how long it could last. Surely, if there were as many eyes following them as Remy claimed there were, someone would have noticed them by now.

And on their third day in the city, it finally happened. Rogue had stopped to look at a dress in a shop window, the velvet dark green and covered in lace. Remy’s hand brushed past her and latched onto something, or rather someone who squealed at being caught. She turned and Found Remy holding a boy no older than seven off the ground.

With a nod to her, Remy told the boy, “This one’s off limits.”

“Says who?” The boy’s chin was lifted, defiant and proud. He wriggled in Remy’s grasp. His hands swung at every part of Remy he could reach, a fighter through and through. Despite his efforts, he wasn’t able to free himself.

Remy gave him a sly smile and flipped a card out of his pocket. The back of it was a deep, ornate crimson pattern, the front of it positioned out of Rogue’s eyeline.

“Says someone you should be listening to.”

At the sight of the card, the boy stilled long enough for Remy to set him down on the ground. Remy reached into his pockets and pulled out a few bills. He slipped them into the boy’s hand. 

“Tell the family le fils is home.”

The boy nodded, and with one last look at Rogue he slipped into the crowd.

“What was that?” Rogue asked.

“Our calling card,” Remy said. He took her hand and lead her down the street to a small cafe tucked off the main road. 

As they were finishing lunch, the boy appeared at Remy’s elbow. He slipped a folded sheet of paper onto the table and disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared. Remy picked up the paper. As he read it, a grin scrawled across his face.

“Pack your bags, cher, we’re going home.”

Xxxx

It was long after dark before they pulled into a long drive deep in the swamps. The night was disturbed only by their headlights. Eyes flashed green and red around them before disappearing into the waters on either side of the road, the only signs of life around them. The road split after a long wooden bridge and Remy took the right fork, Rogue hot on his tail. It wasn’t long until an old Southern manse grew out of the darkness ahead. 

Remy parked near back porch and Rogue pulled up next to him. Without a backwards glance he made his way up the steps two at a time to knock on the door. Rogue took her time to scrutinize the house. Its ornate wood working was dark and tragic in the night, but by the light of day Rogue knew it would be beautiful on its own. If she were more inclined, she would have wondered whether there was an old woman kept in the attic or if there were dead trapped within it’s walls. 

The only thing that stood out to her between this one and home was the haint blue ceiling. The sight of it sent pangs of homesickness through her chest and not for the first time since crossing the Maison-Dixon line did Rogue wonder what Irene was doing now.

Before she could wonder too long, the backdoor opened and an elderly woman stepped out. At the sight of Remy, her arms opened wide and engulfed him in a hug. 

“Remy, my chil’, I was wondering how long it would take you to come back home.” 

Rogue made her way up the steps as she watched Remy return the woman’s hug. He brushed a kiss on the top of the woman’s head. “Bonne nuit, Tante.”

The woman reached for Rogue’s hands to greet her with an unexpected warmth. “You must be Rogue. Remy’s talked about you. Never did think I’d be able to thank you in person, though.”

Rogue’s smile was tight at the unfamiliar touch. “Nice to meet you, m’am.”

“Come on in, the both of you, so I can get a better look,” Tante Mattie said as she ushered the pair into a well-used kitchen. As Remy passed her she boxed his ears playfully. “You couldn’t have told me you was coming tonight? You two have a seat, and I’ll warm some food up for the both of you.”

Rogue slipped into the nearest seat. Over by the stove, Remy and Mattie spoke in low voices, their words softly brushing up against each other. It was a homey scene and Rogue couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. 

Mattie poured something tick and meaty into two bowls. She handed one to Remy who leaned against the kitchen counter to inhale his food. The other bowl she walked to the table where Rogue sat. His eyes flitted between the two women, watchful, and Rogue began to feel uneasy. They’d been talking about her, she’d caught enough of their conversation to know that, but she hadn’t heard enough to know why.

“It won’t bite’cha, p’tite.” Mattie said. 

She held out the bowl to Rogue rather than placing it on the table. When Rogue reached for it, Mattie pushed it into her hands hard enough for the stew to spill across her sweater.

“I’m so sorry,” Rogue apologized with a start, her manners kicking in before her brain realized that the woman had all but thrown the stew at her. Rogue stripped her sweater off to wipe what she could into the bowl.

“Not a problem, chere, accidents happen. Now come on over here so I can wash those clothes before a stain sets,” Tante Mattie ordered. She came around the table and held her hand out for the sweater.

Rogue’s fingers dug into the dripping fabric. She glanced at Remy and found him at the sink with his back turned towards her. Rogue blanched and stepped back towards the woman, uncomfortably aware that the only thing between her and Mattie was a thin tank top. 

“Don’t come any closer,” she warned. She took another step backwards as Tante Mattie crowded her. “I can’t -“

“Course you. Just don’t pull too hard on me, don’t have the same energy I used to.” 

Rogue’s back hit the wall as Mattie’s hand gripped her uncovered arm. Flashes of a life long-lived assault Rogue as she tried to pull away. Tante’s eyes, still clear after one, two, three seconds, watch her own. The sound of drums and old gospel hymns rise. Laughter and tears, screaming and sobbing. Darkness and light, life and death. All are ghosts haunting the room as the memories wash over Rogue.

After a lifetime, Mattie’s hold loosens. She stumbled backwards and Remy guides her back into a kitchen chair. 

“What on God’s green earth -“ Rogues breathed. 

As the full force of Mattie’s personality and her deluge of memories hit, Rogue’s legs buckle under her. The ground beneath her rushed up to meet her, only to be interrupted by a pair of arms. 

French weaves through the chattering of a million voices. Rogue’s last thought is of old tales and older legends, told to children before bedtime. Thieves and assassins and the dark underbelly of the South greet her with open arms as the darkness surrounded her.


	6. Jurisdiction, Part 2, or Welcome to the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Rogue meets the family and uninvited guests make for an interesting challenge

Light shone through a window and eased Rogue out of a deeper sleep than she’d had in years. For once she hadn’t screamed her way through someone else’s nightmare, hadn’t lived through memories that weren’t her own, hadn’t dreamed of a life she’d never wanted. She hadn’t dreamed at all. It was so quiet inside and out she wondered for a moment if she were dead.

Something nagged at her, something she should remember, but it was all too easy to push it aside and drift back to sleep.

The next time she woke found Tante Mattie sitting in a rocking chair nearby. Knobby, arthritic fingers worked a needle through green cloth, an old lullaby whispered from her lips. The song drew up an image of candles in the night, cotton on bare skin, a baby’s cry, the earthy taste of blood. 

As quickly as it appeared, the vision is gone again.

“Where am I?” Rogue croaked. Her body was sore, as if she’d spent three hours training, her lips and mouth dry as a desert.

Mattie nodded towards the bedside table, and Rogue found a full glass of water within arm’s reach. She reached towards it as Mattie turned her fabric over.

“Remy’s room.” The needle slipped through a mass of gold on the back, scissors cleanly cut through thread. “Figured it was best to put you in here, elsewise people’d make up any excuse to come up and gawk at the new bride.”

Rogue set down the now empty glass and rolled over onto her back. She stretched her legs and yawned. “Where’s he at?”

“Talking wit’ his pa these last two mornings,” Mattie said as she turned the fabric over and began a new stitch. 

Two days. No wonder she felt like she’d just run a marathon. But she’d never slept that long, not unless her powers had gone haywire.

Rogue sat up quick enough that Mattie started and almost dropped her work. “I didn’t hurt you -” Mattie’s eyebrows crossed in confusion.

“Last night, I mean,” Rogue finished.

The old woman chuckled and waved away her concern. “It’d take a lot more than a touch from you to hurt me. I’m more concerned about how you’re doin’.” Mattie set aside her work and pushed out of the chair. She winced at the loud crack of her knees and rubbed at the small of her back. “And what Jean Luc’s decided about the two of you.”

Rogue sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Jean Luc didn’t seem the type of person to be thrilled about anything, let alone Gambit’s decision to marry without guild approval, if his imprint on her psyche were anything to go by. She could only imagine what the real one would be like once faced with the reality that his prize bargaining chip had long since been cashed out.

Mattie cleared her throat and nodded towards a door in the far corner of the room. “Bathroom’s over there. I’ll bring you up some clean clothes in the meantime.”

Rogue thanked her and reached for her gloves. Overly cautious, maybe, but she didn’t dare risk a repeat. As she pulled the second one on, she found Mattie’s sharp eye on her bare hand. Standing, Rogue gave the woman a wide berth, unsettled by the woman’s unexpected attention on her skin.

Pulling the door closed behind her, Rouge ran through the events of last night, unsettled by Mattie’s lack of reaction to her touch. There was a mystery there, one the answer to was out of reach. 

‘Get outta there and come home, Stripes. This whole thing stinks of a trap,’ Logan whispered.

“What if this is my only chance?” Rogue whispered. 

The ghosts of her past went silent.

When she was finished, Rogue opened the door and found Mattie had laid new clothes out on the bed. Dark colors and long sleeves. At least she hadn’t tried to push Rogue into something more ‘ladylike.’ 

As Rogue pulled on the clothes she noted how they stood in stark contrast to the white blandness of the bedroom. Other than her own bags, tucked away by the bed, the room held less personality than a hotel room. There was no clutter, no personal items, nothing that indicated someone claimed this as their bedroom.

Curious, Rogue opened the only other door to find a closet empty of everything but an extra blanket and pillow. All the drawers were empty and nothing was stored under the bed. True to his personality, Gambit had erased all traces that he’d ever stayed there. The only suggestion of him was his duster hung on the back of the bathroom door.

A knock came just as Rogue was pulling on her shoes. Before she could answer, Mattie made her way into the room.

“Now that you’re back among the living, what say we get us somethin’ to eat?”

Without waiting for an answer, she walked out of the room. Rogue hastily tied her shoes and hurried after her to a small staircase tucked away at the end of the hallway. As they descended sounds of life in the house broke through the silence around them. Proof that there were more people here than Rogue had anticipated. Likely thieves and cut-throats come to see the latest drama, if Mattie’s words were any indication. 

The more she thought about it, the odder it was. Mattie was claimed as family, but Gambit hadn’t mentioned much of her when he’d given her a run down of the guild. It was almost as if she was a long-dead family member rather than the woman just ahead.

“What ‘xactly is it you do round here?” Rogue asked, her thoughts tumbling out before she had time to think about it. Her words were loud in the small, spiral staircase and she clamped down a momentary flash of claustrophobia. “Remy said you were his aunt,” she added in an effort to curb some of her rudeness. It wouldn’t help her if she offended the only person she thought would approve of this plan.

“Li’l of this, li’l of that,” Mattie replied. Light greeted them as they rounded the next bend and Mattie leaned heavily against the wall to tell Rogue to, “Mind the next few steps. They’re the only ones that haven’t been replaced after the last storm. Hate to see you hurt so early, especially with the road you’ve got in front of you.”

The stairway, it turned out, lead directly to the kitchen pantry. Mattie’s step lightened at the bottom and she moved to the oven on the other side of the room. As much as Rogue wanted to ask about her cryptic words, experience told her Mattie wouldn’t give up her secrets easily. While they shared few similarities, Mattie reminded her of Irene in some ways. Both women knew far more than they’d let one and there was an air of patience and wisdom brought about by pain and heartbreak in both of them. Years spent with Irene’s own brand of cryptic words had taught Rogue there were some questions she’d never have answered.

Instead, Rogue took a seat on a brass stool that lined the kitchen island. And old, wooden cutting board and knife were set in front of her, while celery, onion, and pepper quickly followed. Hint received loud and clear, Rogue peeled off her gloves and set them in her lap to pick up the knife.

“Glad to see the boy’s got some sense in him,” Mattie said when she saw Rogue cutting up the vegetables. She threw a dish rag over her shoulder and set a fist on her hip. “You wouldn’t believe how many people come through that door and refuse to help. Think it’s beneath them most times.” 

When she was satisfied with how Rogue was doing, Mattie reached up and pulled down a battered copper pan from the overhead rack.

“You’re not really Remy’s aunt, are you?” Rogue asked as she sliced into the celery. It somehow seemed easier to ask these questions with Mattie’s back turned.

Mattie hummed and scooped butter into the pan. She set it on the stove and turned the burner on. With a tsk of her tongue she turned back to face Rogue. “Didn’t think you’d be so keen on blood relations.”

Chastised, Rogue’s cheeks burned. Her question was out of character, she realized a moment too late, when considering how she wasn’t related to any of her own family. She’d been raised by women who weren’t her family, and she put her life on the line most days to protect those she now considered family. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t -”

Mattie chuckled. “I been keeping that boy out of trouble for a long time, I’d say we’re closer than family. Been keeping the whole Lebeau clan out of trouble for a while now. Especially when it comes to their bull-headed ideas. Rest of the time, I do what I like best. Cook.” 

She pulled a mason jar towards her and shook flour out into the pan. “Now, how ‘bout you ask me the question you been holdin’ back on.”

The knife slipped in Rogue’s hand and she just missed her thumb. A memory, her own this time, of herself at 8 years old Irene asking a similar question about the strange blue woman who’d just moved in. 

“You touched me last night. Why?”

“Wasn’t aware I couldn’t,” came the evasive answer.

“You knew about my powers, didn’t you, you have to -”

Mattie turned to face Rogue, her face open and a smile dancing on her lips. “I know a lot of things, child. Like how if you don’t finish choppin’ ain’t none of us goin’ to be eating anytime soon.”

Rogue bit back a sharp response being well acquainted with that tone from the adults in her life. Gambit had warned his aunt brooked no back talk, but something didn’t sit right about this woman. Mattie knew too much and gave too few answers. It gave Rogue the same feeling as when she’d lived under the same room as Mystique. A pawn in a game where the rule book had no meaning, if it had ever existed at all.

And despite all her efforts, Rogue found no trace of Mattie inside her head. Even the most slippery psyches, the ones with the most to hide, left behind some trace, a ghost or a shadow of the person. When it came to Mattie, though, it was as if they’d never touched at all. 

The woman in question turned back to the stove and hummed to herself. 

“I do what I want for my own reasons,” Mattie said after a while, “nothing for you to worry about.” 

She went back to her song, a deep, blue, longful tune. One Rogue half-remembered from some long forgotten era. As the notes shifted they brought a strange calm with them, suspicion allayed for the moment.

And if Mattie heard Rogue quietly singing along, she didn’t mention it.

Xx

Several hours later found Rogue rolling her eyes at Mattie’s tales. 

“You can’t expect me to believe that,” Rogue scoffed. She was long since number to tales of the supernatural. Living under the same roof as a seer, a psychic, and a girl who literally walked through walls tended to put a damper on the paranormal. “It’s just as much nonsense as Marie Laveau.”

Mattie smacked her hand with a wooden spoon and made the sign of the cross. “Hugh your mouth, chil’, we do not speak that name in this house. Now pick up that dessert and follow me. It’s time for supper and we don’ want those animals gettin’ hungry.”

Rogue picked up the bowl of bread pudding and followed Mattie through the house to a large dining room filled with people. The windows were dark, but the air of gentility and gilded walls let her know this was a far cry from normal. As Mattie had warned, all eyes turned to watch Rogue as she set the bowl down on the sideboard. 

Turning, she found Jean Luc at the head of the table, at his right Remy, at his left a balding man in his late twenties. Remy was deliberately looking away from her, while Jean Luc’s stare was pure venom. If she’d hadn’t grown up around Mystique’s various ‘colleagues’ and stared down the latest batch of sociopaths, Jean Luc’s stare might have frightened Rogue straight out of Louisiana. As it was, his smug grin only hinted he had a wild card hidden somewhere.

Mattie took the open seat in the middle of the table, leaving Rogue the last seat at the far end of the table. The young man seated next to her was eager to pull her chair out as she neared. Now seated, whispers grew into a low din and Rogue made a point to meet every stare with one of her own. 

Cutlery sang against glass and the room quieted. All attention turned to Jean Luc who stood and spread his arms wide. His smile was full of charm and hospitality with a tinge of an alligator lying in wait among the reeds. 

“Bon matin, family. It seems we got an unexpected guest with us. I hope you’ll all be as welcoming to Rogue as you are to any of our other, more familiar guests. Do you prefer Rogue, or should I call you Ms. Darkholme?” Jean Luc purred.

Rankled though she was at Jean Luc’s attempt at Southern Hospitality, Rogue stilled at the long rejected name. It was only a moment, but it was long enough for the room to see the shot hit its target.

“Bon matin, Jean Luc. Thank you for your invitation to stay. Or would you prefer Buppy?” Rogue said, her voice laced with absinthe and arsenic. The nickname jumped to her tongue as easy as her ABC’s, but that was a mystery to solve later when she was alone. For now she held Jean Luc’s gaze until he sat down, hard. 

Next to her, the man snickered. “Ain’t nobody but Mattie’s been able to call him that since he was in diapers.”

“Maybe it’ll make a comeback,” the woman across from her said. She picked up a roll and spread butter over it as she spoke, scars threaded across her hands. “He looks more like a ‘Buppy’ than a Jean Luc, don’t you think?”

The man choked on his water and Jean Luc sent a glare their way at the noise.

“What’d you do to him? He looks like he’s ready to feed you to the snapping turtles out back,” the man to Rogue’s right said. He yelped and scotted away from the table to rub at his shin He stuck his tongue out at the woman. 

“What this couillion means to say is that he’s Lapin,” the woman said as she spooned rice onto her plate, “and I’m Merci. Welcome to the family.”

“Thanks. I think.” Rogue took the dish from Merci. “Is it always this crowded?” She served herself and handed the plate to Lapin who passed it down the table. 

“Nah. Usually the only sit down meal like this are the obligation days, and that’s more for show.” Lapin leaned towards her and in a loud whisper said, “They all wanted to come see who Remy brought home, even though nobody came to my birthday dinner last month.”

“You’re so full of it your eyes are turning brown,” Merci said. “After that bar bill I’m not surprised you remembered you even had a birthday this year. Anyways, Ms. Darkholme -”

“Rogue, please.”

“ - who are you anyways?” Lapin jumped in. Merci shot him a look and he gave a sheepish grin. “I mean, how do you know Remy?” 

“We worked the odd job together,” Rogue said cryptically. She shot a glance towards Remy, still focused on his own conversation, and spooned grillades off the plate that had been passed to her. She didn’t offer any further detail which only served to hone their focus.

“What kind of work?” Merci asked. Her tone was light with a touch of curiosity, a look Rogue had long since learned to be cautious of, especially when Merci combined it with a toss of her blonde curls.

Next to her Lapin squinted. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere?”

Rogue took a large bite of food to bite back what she really wanted to say. It was as normal for people to be curious  
as it was for Rogue to tell them to mind their own business. Only this wasn’t Bayville where she’d long since burned every bridge she could with the idiots and goons. She tugged her gloves highed on her wrists at the thought. Even though Remy was a mutant, it wasn’t as if anti-mutant sympathies had gotten any better. Especially against mutants who’d saved the world twice over.

‘Think of it like a play.’ Kitty’s voice filtered through the noise of the dining room. ‘Like, you totally rocked that dress and those lines.’

‘This ain’t a play, Kit. If I mess this up -’

‘Then pretend to be me. Or Kurt.’

‘WWFDD?’

‘Exactly!’

“I came to Louisiana when I was younger. Grew up just across the border,” came her answer.

“No, that’s not it,” Lapin muttered. He picked at his food as he stole glances at her. “Are you sure you’re not famous or something?”

“We’re all thieves here, Rogue. Anything incriminating you may say or do here stays here,” Merci said with a smile. “Though I do have to ask how you convinced Remy to say yes. We all thought he’d wait until he was sixty to finally settle down.”

An unexpected wave of gratitude washed over Rogue for the easy out Merci had laid before her. With the details she and Remy had agreed upon, and a few more that they hadn’t, Rogue told their story. The conversation was easy enough after that, and it wasn’t long until Mattie stood to announce dessert was on the sideboard, help yourself.

Dessert for Rogue was not meant to be though. She was caught a few feet from the table by an arm snaked around her wait. Every instinct told her to fight and run, but she forced herself to stay still.

“Looks like new of our arrival’s spread fast. ‘Fraid we’re gonna have to skip dessert, company’s waiting in the library,” Remy breathed into her ear.

Jean Luc had finally played his wild card. 

‘Just play acting,’ Rogue reminded herself as Remy guided her through the downstairs floor. They stepped through an open doorway into a half-lit room lined with bookshelves and lush leather seating out of a nineteenth century salon. The door closed behind them and chatter ceased. 

On one side of the fireplace sat a few thieves she half-recognized, Jean Luc chief among them in a high backed chair, whiskey in his hand, and more she didn’t. On the other were hard edged men she’d never seen before. Both sides had the air of forced affability, but none would cross the divide created by the fireplace.

Besides Rogue, the only other woman in the room was a tall, blonde woman that left little doubt as to who she was. To all appearances Belladonna looked the girl next door, albeit one with the fashion sense, and bank account, of a Parisian model. Dressed head to toe in white, accessorized with a green scarf, Belladonna looked like the kind of person you’d ask to watch your children while you were out of town. Thick blonde ringlets framed her perfectly made face, all meant to draw attention to the sharp blue eyes of a predator.

Belladonna caught Rogue’s eye and looked her up and down. Unimpressed, she turned to Remy with a prefect moue. 

“Remy, I’m hurt.” Her voice held a lilt of a European accent, one more tool in her arsenal. “You didn’t even tell me you were seeing someone.”

He stiffened and pulled Rogue closer to his side, fingers digging into her waist. “Din’t realize we were back on speakin’ terms.”

“Manners, boy,” Jean Luc barked. 

“It’s fine, Mr. Lebeau,” Belladonna said with a toss of her hair. “I know Remy has trouble forgiving our little quarrels.”

“You stabbed me, Belle. I wouldn’t call that a quarrel,” Remy said quietly. His voice was flat, controlled. “Why are you here?”

Rogue shifted away from Remy, suddenly hot in the stuffy room. His grip loosened, but he didn’t remove his hand.

Jean Luc stood up, his face red, and threw his glass into the fireplace. “They’re here because you went and made a damn fool of us all,” he snarled. He pointed towards Remy and stabbed at the air as he spoke. “You knew there was an agreement in place and -”

“An agreement you made, I had nothing to do with it,” Remy snapped.

A sudden bite of pain made Rogue gasp. She looked down at her waist and saw a magenta glow fading from her shirt. Under his breath Remy apologized and stepped away from her, his fists curled in on themselves.

“You had everythin’ to do with it,” the bald man from the assassins’ side said. He was large with the same piercing eyes Belladonna wore. His suit was cut from fabric just as fine as her’s despite being several decades out of style. Her father, if the stolen memories were correct. “Your father should have left you on the streets where he found you, you’ve done nothing but cause the both of us trouble.”

Remy stepped forward, curt French words tumbling from his lips too fast for Rogue to follow. Jean Luc’s response followed quicker than a dog after a rabbit.

With tensions running high, and without her own dog in the fight, Rogue used the distraction to move towards a wall out of their line of sight. She leaned against the wall and took stock of the room. Scars and hard eyes were proof none of these men were to be trifled with. The room felt stretched and thin, a rubber band waiting to snap in on itself or break. 

“It wasn’t just me who didn’t want to get married,” Remy said. Across the room, Belladonna scoffed and he turned to face her. “Last time I was here, I proposed. You said you’d rather marry a stuffed possum and stabbed me.”

At the revelation something in Rogue’s chest clenched. Hard. It didn’t make any sense, really, that she such a kick. This was a business arrangement, after all. But that reminder did little to lessen the sting to her pride. For a moment she’d allowed herself to think that maybe there had been a seed of something there between them. This was only a means to an end, she reminded herself.

“You really must learn to forgive these things, mon tendre amour, it was only a small scratch,” Belladonna purred. She sashayed her way across the room to where Remy stood. Her hands reached up to smooth the lines of his shoulders and Rogue rolled her eyes. 

“Besides, it wasn’t as if you tried to spend any time with me. In fact, I recall you running away from me until right before you left. The proposal took me by surprise, especially since you hadn’t even brought me flowers. It wasn’t romantic at all. Maybe if you’d put a little effort in…”

Remy sneered and turned to leave. Jean Luc barked out “Sit,” and Remy stopped. The muscles in his jaw worked against each other, but still he sat in the closest chair. The look on his face would curdle milk.

“In the morning, Belladonna will escort the both of you to the courthouse,” Jean Luc said, each word pointed. “You will file an annulment. Then -”

All of the tension leaked out of Remy and he grinned. “Can’t.”

All attention turned towards him and his cocky swagger returned. 

“And why is that?” Jean Luc asked through gritted teeth.

“All the i’s were dotted, all the t’s crossed. Have to get a divorce, and you know the rules about that,” Remy said with a knowing lift of his eyebrow. 

“Please, like you’d ever marry someone like her,” Belladonna laughed, a wicked fake thing.

Her condescension towards Rogue was comically underrated. Especially when compared to the last few anti-mutant sympathizers she’d come across. Rogue briefly thought of giving Belladonna a few pointers but decided it wasn’t worth the effort.

Remy looked over at Rogue. His brown eyes held a spark of mirth as they meandered down her body. She pursed her lips and tried not to throw something at him.

“Why’s that?” Remy asked when he was done with his perusal. 

“You can’t even touch ‘er,” Belladonna snapped, a shade of cajun coloring her carefully crafted accent. “You really gon’ have me believe you wanted to marry someone you can’t sleep with? We’re not that stupid.” 

Her words garnered a few chuckles and knowing looks around the room, a few sent Rogue’s way. She bit the inside of her cheek, anger hot in her throat. To talk about her as if she weren’t in the room was one thing, but to drag her mutation out in the light was another.

“Who says we can’t touch?” Rogue snapped.

Remy shot her a warning look, but Rogue refused to back down from this particular fight. She knew to hold her tongue here, there was a bigger battle to fight, but Belladonna rubbed her the wrong way. Just like the cheerleaders in high school, just like the politicians with their too white smiles and too muddy lies, Belladonna was nothing more than a makeup on a shark. 

To soften things, Remy gave belladonna an easy, familiar grin. “Cher’s right. You of all people should know how creative Remy can be when he really wants something. A little skin isn’t enough to keep him away from a woman like that.” he said. His slip into third person caught Rogue’s attention, and she wondered whether it was a nervous tic or a defensive move. Or perhaps, both. 

The subtle dig at Belladonna was enough to mar her face with anger. She walked across the room to tower over Rogue. There was little more than an inch between them, and Rogue had to look up. Belladonna had an easy four inches over Rogue, even without the stiletto boots.

“That true?” Belladonna asked. 

Rogue smirked, doing her best to draw on all of his arrogance.

Challenged, Belladonna tossed her hair and called the bluff.

“Fine. Then how ‘bout you show us just how you manage to kiss this ‘husband’ of yours.”

Rogue’s smirk turned feral. She could never refuse proving someone wrong. In a smooth motion, Rogue pushed off the wall and reached up towards Belladonna’s neck. Amusingly, the woman took a step back before she was able to compose herself. 

“Gladly, shug. Mind if I borrow this a quick second?” Not waiting for an answer, Rogue unwound the bright green scarf. “Thanks,” she purred in a mock imitation of Belladonna’s earlier accent.

Rogue sauntered towards Remy, hyper-aware of the eyes on her. There was a deliberate kick to her hips, and Remy looked like he was on the verge of laughter. His eyes dropped to her hips as the room around them turned dead silent. The urge to run, to hide, to fly away from her churned in her stomach, but this was only act one of this play she’d agreed to. 

Control, control, control. No more accidents at breakfast. No more avoiding concerts and museums and college. No more self-imposed isolation. No more destruction.

All eyes were locked on them as Rogue set one knee on the chair next to Remy’s hip. The scaf trailed after her hands as she reached towards his face. His smile softened and she grazed her thumb across his bottom lip. As the silk whispered across his lips, Remy’s brown eyes widened. 

“Don’t look so smug, swamp rat,” Rogue mumbled as she leaned forward to press her lips against his.


	7. Terms and Conditions, or A Tiger Scorned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a challenge is issued and tensions run high.

Contrary to most reigning theories at the Bayville mansion, Rogue was not a chaste, withering spinster. She’d found creative ways to getting around the no-touching thing, at least once she’d found someone she wanted to kiss. And before her mutation manifested, she and Cody had cut class a few times to kiss behind the bleachers before he’d finally gotten up the courage to ask her to that fateful dance. Then there had been Dean, Bayville High’s resident ‘bad boy’ who she’d kissed in an attempt to prove to herself she wasn’t as unwanted as she felt. It wasn’t long before she found out Bayville’s definition of bad boy meant a questioning cynic, and part of her still felt a bit guilty about using him to figure out how to be intimate without skin contact. 

And the less she thought about last summer, the less she thought about _him_ , the better.

But now, with Remy’s lips moving along with hers, Rogue understood why sweet, smart, self-empowered Kitty would run back to Lance after every bad break up for at least a few weeks. Nothing she’d done or seen compared to this, though With Remy’s hands tracing electricity along her sides it was too easy to forget this was all an act.

An act that she needed to get away from, now. Remy, though, wasn’t so willing to let her go. He tugged her closer to him and drew his arms around her, slowly, agonizingly tempting. 

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and Rogue pulled away, the borrowed scarf fluttered down between them. Remy’s face was flushed and his eyes half closed, a look that tempted something deep inside. She drew in a deep breath in and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. He set his cheek against her hair, his own breath coming short.

“Now that that’s settled,” someone started, but Belladonna’s snarl cut them off.

“That don’t mean nothin’ and you know it, Henri. Just cause he kissed her don’t mean he fucked her.”

“Didn’t know you wanted to watch so badly,” Rogue said, her tongue loosened by this strange turn of events. Her face heated as attention turned back to her, but she held her head high and looked straight at Belladonna. “Next time maybe we’ll make sure to save you a seat.”

Beneath her, Remy’s body shook with laughter that he failed to cover with a strangled cough. 

“You can’t talk to me that way,” came the angry response.

“And what makes you think you can talk to me that way?” Rogue shot back.

Belladonna stilled. All her outward anger dissipated leaving behind an ice blue stare. Rogue’s shoulders tensed at the sudden change, on her guard for the first time since entering the room.

“I invoke my right of honor,” Belladonna said, every word bitten off by those unnaturally white teeth.

Remy hissed in a breath and the room stilled around them. Rogue’s eyes traveled around the room for any hint of what that might mean.

“Belladonna, that’s not gonna change the situation, and you know it,” the man who’d sat next to Jean Luc said softly.

“If they’ve consummated the marriage, divorce is out of the question under guild law,” Belladonna’s father said. He stood, his massive frame a punctuation to the finality of his words. “My daughter has a right to defend her honor as the spurned party. And as his wife,” he spat the words towards Rogue as if they were coated in arsenic, “she’s bound by the law to meet it.”

With her father leading the way, Belladonna left the room without a backward glance. The rest of the assassins followed. 

“God damn it, boy,” Jean Luc snarled as he stormed out after them. The rest of the thieves slipped out, most sending Rogue sympathetic and pained looks. All of Rogue’s confidence fled along with them, and she was wary of the answer she needed to hear.

“Merde,” was the only word Rogue could make out of Remy’s string of mumbled French. “‘fraid this might happen. Thought we’d have more time, though.”

“Remy, what’s she mean by ‘invoke her right of honor’?” 

He took a deep, heavy breath in. His hands dropped to his sides and Rogue stood to get a better look at him. 

“A fight between the two of you. Her pride’s on the line, and she’s willin’ to do anythin’ to save face. Remy can’t help you in this one, chere. No one in the guild can. Not unless you’re willing to give up everything.”

Anger welled up in her chest and Rogue crossed her arms tight against her as she paced. “You don’t think this might’a been somethin’ I needed to know before I agreed to this?”

To his credit, Remy winced and at least looked ashamed. But with him, Rogue never knew if it was sincere or skin deep. She didn’t know if she cared right now. 

“This is startin’ to be more trouble than it’s worth,” Rogue muttered. 

At her words, Remy’s face fell and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Remy should have told you from the start. Was just scared you’d refuse. Thought it’d be easy enough.”

Rogue scoffed. “Liar,” she accused without much heat. The part of her brain that wasn’t quite her own was already running through as many strategies and plans for ways to get out of this without bloodshed, and for those that required it. 

“So, what’s that mean for me? Belladonna kicks my ass, so she can prove she’s more worthy? Then we all laugh and invite each other for tea?”

Remy shook his head. He’d produced a stack of cards from somewhere and was thumbing through them while his eyes tracked her movement. “She wins, marriage is void. Regardless of what happened between us.”

Rogue stopped and turned to stare at him. “And the stone?”

His look was enough of an answer.

“Anything I need to expect? Latent mutant powers or just another highly trained murderer who hates me?”

Remy’s eyebrows shot up and his jaw dropped. “You okay with this?”

She rolled her eyes and shifted her weight to one hip. If she only knew one thing, it was never run away from a fight you can win. Both Mystique and Logan had drilled that lesson into her head many times over. Worse, if she did run back home with her tail between her legs she’d never be able to face herself, or Logan, after coming this far. 

“Please. You think this is the first time someone’s wanted to kill me?”

“Always seem to forget how stubborn you are,” he said with more than a note of pride. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a touch of his finger. 

She tapped his shoe with her boot and tilted her chin for him to get on with it. He grinned that slick, shit-eating grin he’d long ago perfected and played with the scarf still in his lap.

“Get on with it, possum face.”

He chuckled and took a drag. “Rules are simple enough. Two of you fight ’til the other can’t. Normally means when one of you throws up the white flag or gets knocked out, but with pride on the line,” he trailed off with a warning look. “Other than that, no rules.”

“Weapons?” Rogue asked as she wandered around the room. She drew her hand along a blue and white vase that had a mate at the mansion. 

“Two each, if Belle wants ‘em. Only thing ain’t allowed is firearms or bows. Everything else’s fair game. And that’s a two million dollar vase you’re getting handsy with.”

Rogue drew her hands away, a child about to touch a furnace. She shoved them into her back pockets as she ignored his chuckle. 

“That include mutations?” 

“Including mutations.” The room went silent. It was a long moment before he spoke again, his voice pitched low. “I’d think long and hard on that idea, chere. Wouldn’t want Belladonna in anybody’s head, even for a second.”

“At least she’d be able to shut you up in there,” Rogue said as she moved onto a brightly colored painting mounted above the fireplace. A Monet? Or maybe it was a Manet? She never could keep them straight. 

“Think we both know you like me up there,” Remy said, the smugness clear as a bell in his voice. “Why else would you keep touchin’ me like that?”

Rogue frowned at his cocksure attitude and moved on to the next curio, refusing to acknowledge that perhaps there was some part of her that enjoyed his company.

“What happens if I refuse the fight?”

“You die by my hand. Or else I do.”

She turned sharply. Remy watched her quietly, still save for the smoke rising from the stub of a cigarette between his fingers. 

“God damn you cajun,” she snapped. Every muscle in her body was coiled for a fight and she had never wanted more for the Danger Room. She resumed her pacing, a tiger in a cage, energy without a conduit. 

‘The lady or the tiger,’ Mystique scoffed, her voice a loud shot in the quiet room. ‘We are both, Rogue, and it’s time you recognized it and allowed me to-‘

She screwed her eyes shut and concentrated on the mental blocks Xavier had taught her. It was easy enough to know what she could do for what she wanted. For what she needed. 

It was an infinitely harder thing to know what she was willing to do for it.

“What happens after? If I win?”

“She’s had her chance, and you’re off limits to anyone else who wants to defend Belle.”

There was a cacophonous roar in her head, not a single thought her own as the reality of it hit her. Rogue let it flow through her, opinions, advice, threats, and cajoling from everyone she’d ever touched. Some voices were louder than others, mostly those who had no faith in her, while the more persistent ones wanted her safety above all else. The undertow had become the current, and Rogue allowed herself time to be swept up in it. For a moment, at least, she was no longer the one facing this decision but rather a vessel for the multitudes who’d been etched upon her mind. 

And then, it was quiet again. Her voice was once again hers and hers alone. 

She opened her eyes to find Remy standing in front of her, worry and fear and hope and pride in his eyes. It was strange to see him this open, and even stranger still when the shadow that lurked in the corners of her mind whispered to her.

‘If anyone can do it, it’s you, sha.’

She swallowed the strange emotion that rose in her throat to speak. 

“Guess we’d best get to it, then. Haven’t had the chance to knock around a swamp rat in months and I’d hate to miss my chance.”

Xxx

It wasn’t until two days later that Rogue saw Remy again. She’d spent the majority of that time sparring with the few thieves who still occupied the mansion, while Mattie claimed the rest of her time for help around the house. Rogue’s muscles were sore to the touch, too much time spent on the road, but muscle memory had her holding her own much of the time.

Tonight, though, she’d stolen away to Remy’s room with the only book in the library she’d found worth reading. Curled up in the armchair the world around her had dissolved, all problems forgotten for the night. She’d made it half-way through when the devil himself appeared. He fell onto the bed and she turned to the next page. 

“Jean Luc gave his blessin’ to the fight. Said if you win, he’d accept you as my wife.”

She scoffed. “Probably think’s I’m gonna get my ass kicked.”

Remy ran a hand down his face. He looked as haggard as she’d never seen him. She realized he hadn’t shaved since the last time she’d seen him and there were dark spots under his eyes. Briefly, she wondered whether he’d slept much since they’d arrived. For her own part she’d been so physically exhausted it was easy enough to fall asleep at night. But to her knowledge this was the first time he’d stepped foot in his room since they’d arrived. 

Rogue set her book down on her lap and turned to face him.

“Think he’s hopin’ for Belle to kill you, actually,” Remy said without emotion. He yawned and closed his eyes. “If you’re still alive, I’d imagine he’d use you as proof she was never a good match in the first place.”

“Can’t ever be wrong, can he?”

He propped himself up on one elbow to look at her. “Sure you want to go through this? Hear there’s a real nice witness protection in Madagascar. Sun, beaches, drinks with pink umbrellas?”

“I’m not runnin’, Gambit. That ain’t what _I_ do,” she snapped. She turned back to her book, offended that he had that little faith in her.

He sighed and moved further up the bed. “Ain’t about runnin’, Rogue. It’s ‘bout pickin’ which battles you can win.”

“You don’t think I can do it, do you?” When he didn’t response, Rogue threw the book onto the floor and stood up. “I beat your ass before, didn’t I? Magneto? Juggernaut? Apocalypse?”

“They weren’t trained assassin’s from birth with a personal vendetta. She won’t pull her punches because you’re young. Belle’s out for blood and she don’t care if it’s mine or yours.”

“Fuck you, Gambit,” Rogue snarled as she stormed out of the room, unable to deal with both their doubts at once.

It wasn’t until later, after she’d found a dark sitting room dusty with disuse, that she tried to figure out why his words had hurt as much as it did. She’d never cared about his opinion about her skill set before, so why now? Why would his uncertainty bother her?

Because he’d seen Belladonna work up close, as much as he’d seen Rogue, and the equation never came out in her favor? Or because he didn’t think Rogue had the same fighting fire Belladonna had?

Or, perhaps, it was because it wasn’t doubt but the truth. Rogue wasn’t a murderer. She wasn’t a sadist or a psychopath. She avoided hurting people if she could. All her training as an X-Men in self-defense, in avoidance measures, in subduing an enemy rather than killing them, all of it was useless in this world were a blade wasn’t seen even after the hit had landed.

‘If anyone can do this, it’s you Roguey. I believe in you,’ said a voice she’d rather forget. 

A small warm surge of confidence came with it and it was easy enough to believe this was all a bad dream. That she was still at the mansion surrounded by familiar faces and routines, with the world ahead of her and him by her side. It was enough to ease her way into sleep on the hard, uncomfortable couch for tonight at least.


	8. Terms and Conditions: Part 2, or Identity Theft Your Way Into Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a loophole is avoided and Kitty's definitely on a watch list or two

A week after Belladonna’s invocation, Jean Luc surprised them all by inviting the family to brunch the next morning, an invitation that was not to be declined. Having successfully avoided Gambit since she’d stormed out, Rogue worried that he’d come clean about their plans. She refused to even look at him when she entered the dining room, fearful that he’d taken matters into his own hands to protect them both.

But when she took her seat next to Jean Luc Gambit looked just as confused as she was about it. Jean Luc, on the other hand, looked as if he’d managed to steal not only the cookie, but also the cookie jar, the bakery, and the baker’s wife. 

On guard, Rogue nodded a greeting and laid her napkin across her lap. The first course had just been set on the table when Jean Luc clanged his fork against his glass and stood to speak.

“Bonjour, ma famille, bonjour. As happy as we were to receive her, I’m afraid we must say goodbye to our dear Ms. Da’Canto all too soon.”

Rogue glanced at Gambit, certain he’d been up to something. He shook his head just enough for her to see and cut his eyes back to his father.

“I had our lawyers go through the paperwork, and damned if they didn’ find out the marriage license isn’t binding in the eyes of the state, God, and guild.”

The tang of copper was strong as Rogue bit her cheek hard enough to draw blood. 

“What do you mean, ‘isn’t binding,?” Henri asked, next to Remy. He and the rest of those seated at the table looked just as confused as Remy.

Jean Luc turned to Remy, his voice mocking and sympathetic. “Seems your blushin’ bride there isn’t who she claims to be. ‘less she’s really an 89 year old Indian woman who’s been livin’ in a nursing home for the past ten years.” 

He set a folder onto Remy’s plate and left the room laughing. Remy narrowed his eyes at her but he didn’t otherwise hint at any discord.

Damn her mother’s inability to follow up with paperwork. 

“Least she looks good for her age,” Lapin said as Merci ushered him out of the room. 

Remy waited until they were alone to reach for the folder. A soft pink light covered them as he read.

“This true?” he asked when he was done, his anger making her turn away.

“Remy -“ she trailed off when she realized there was no way to explain it without exposing her own past. Without exposing that the life she’d claimed to have was a lie.

“No, you’re not gettin’ out of this one, Rogue,” he hissed, the papers dissolving into ash. “We’re up to our necks in hot water after last week, if this is true -

“I can fix this,” she said standing. She yanked him out of his seat and dragged him towards the door. “But not here. There a quiet place around here?”

The muscles in his jaw twitched, but he nodded. As he lead her towards the front door, Jean Luc’s voice crowed after them, “Can’t get out this one, Anna.”

Rogue ground her teeth tight at his unbridled glee.

Out the door, Remy shook his wrist free of her grip. He made his way around the house, his long legs carrying him quick enough Rogue had to jog to keep up. Past the garage, near a patch of fallow garden, was a shed that had seen better days. He unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist and held the door open for her. A cat wound around her legs and slipped in with her. She had to quash the urge to check that it wasn’t Mystique. 

Behind her, Remy flipped a switch. The slow rumble of an air conditioner kicked to life, loud enough to keep eavesdroppers out. Happy with its inspection of the room, the cat wound about his feet and mewed. Remy obliged, picking it up to scratch it under the chin.

“Explain.”

Rogue nodded and drew in a deep breath. “Mystique. She told me I needed to be ‘untraceable’. So she had me set up as Anna-Marie Da’Canto before I moved to Bayville. Didn’t know she was stealing it from a little old lady.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, incredulous. “And you using a fake identity to get married’s not somethin’ you think I should have known before we got hitched?”

“Maybe I would have if you’d told me he was going to check up on me,” she shot back, her anger at him fueling her spite. “Seems there’s a lot you haven’t told me either, so I’m wonderin’ if now’s the time to let me in on any other secrets you might have goin’ for you.”

Remy cursed and turned away from her. Rogue glared at him, more angry at herself for not thinking Jean Luc would go to any length to save his treaty. Unwilling to give up so easily, she pulled out her cell phone. Halfway through dialing the institute’s number, Remy snatched the flip phone out of her hands.

“Use this one,” he said. He forced his into her hands. “They already got a trace on yours.”

She tugged off a glove to type the number onto the screen. After two rings, someone picked up.

“Xavier’s Institute for the Gifted, this is Bobby speaking, a.k.a. God’s gift to women the world round. How may I direct your call?”

“It’s Rogue, put Kitty on the phone.” She held the phone between her ear and shoulder to pull her glove back on. 

“Rogue! Such a delight to hear that soft Southern purr again. How’s the road? Still leading you forward to your destination?”

It was too easy to picture the grin on his face. 

“Bobby, if you don’t get Kit on the phone in the next two seconds I swear the only thing you’ll be God’s gift to are those maggots Forge’s been working with,” she growled into the phone. “Or do I have to remind you about Homecoming and those wandering hands of yours?”

Remy glanced at Rogue over her shoulder and she turned away from him. That was not a night she wanted to recount without three shots of whiskey in front of her. 

On the phone, Bobby sighed dramatically. “Best three weeks I ever spent in the MedLab. Still can’t bend my pinkie finger.”

“Snowman,” she snapped, but the line had already switched over to the strains of Vivaldi.

“Homecoming, eh? They crown you Queen of Darkness?”

Rogue picked up a wrench and mimed throwing it at him. 

“Rogue! Oh-em-gee how are you? What are doing? Where are you?” Kitty’s chipper voice asked. “Thanks so much for those peach preserves, they were amazing even though I only got, like, two bites. You’ll never guess who decided we had to go to George for a field trip after Ms. Munroe made a peach pie last week -“

“Kit, I need a favor,” Rogue said. If she didn’t cut her off now, Kitty would go on for hours and time was ticking. 

Kitty was silent a moment. “Like, a favor ‘favor’? The one I’m not supposed to be doing without express permission from Mr. Logan or the Professor? I won’t do it, Rogue, I will not.” Her voice was louder and Rogue knew she was still downstairs.

“Yeah, a favor ‘favor’.”

“Gosh, Rogue I told you I can’t do that. It’s like, illegal, you know. Besides, if you’re in trouble we can always come help you sort it out.”

“Stripes in trouble?” Logan’s gruff voice came through, small and tinny. Rogue bit back a groan. The last thing she needed was anybody showing up to save her. 

“Nothing she can’t handle,” Kitty chirped, still playing at innocent. “She just wants an ID that makes her older is all. She’s in Key West and she’s getting carded.”

“Caller ID says Detroit Michigan,” Bobby yelled.

Rogue raised an eyebrow at Remy, his attention entirely on the cat in his arms. What the hell was this phone? 

“We’ll be there in an hour, tops,” Logan’s gruff voice grew softer and Rogue rolled her eyes. Everything had to be a thing with the X-Men. They should have been a theater group instead of superheroes. 

“Tell him I’m fine and there’s nothing to worry about. I’ve gotten out of worse last month.”

“Damnit, kid,” Logan snapped. Rogue cursed his supernatural hearing. “If I don’t hear from you in an hour I will come after you. Keep your phone on.”

Kitty sighed. “He’s not going to find you there, is he?” she said after Logan had left the room.

“Not unless Forge’s found a way to track us without needing Cerebro.”

“Rogue -“ Kitty began, her voice laced with worry.

“I’m fine, Kit. I promise. It’s nothing big. Just tell me what you need me to do,” Rogue said. 

Kitty sighed and Rogue could picture her twisting her hair as she decided what to do.

“Get somewhere with open access wi-fi,” she softly. Her voice returned to its normal pitch, a sign that someone else was walking by. “I just can’t believe you saw Epcot last week, I’ve been dying to go there forever.”

“Forty-five minutes enough time?” Rogue asked as she inspected the tools that lined the shed walls. Nothing more than regular work tools. Apparently even rich thieves need a socket wrench on occasion.

“I thought you were only going to be gone for another thirty days,” Kitty replied easily. “There’s this really awesome coffee shop I wanted you to try out that just opened. They have the best wifi around, I swear, and like, they even provide computers for you to use if you don’t have your own.”

“Thirty minutes with wifi and a computer, got it. Thanks, Kit,” Rogue said with a soft smile. 

“Most definitely we will go first thing when you get back. You’ll have to tell me _all_ about your trip.” Her voice grew distant and Rogue heard her call out, “Mr. Logan, I forgot about a school project that’s due tomorrow. Can I use the X-Van to go into town?” 

The line went dead and Rogue ran a hand through her hair, relieved that was taken care of. She frowned when it got stuck. “Gotta get a hair cut,” she muttered as she yanked her hand free.

“You gon’ tell me what that was about?” Remy’s bourbon drawl came from behind her. 

She spun away from him, putting a hand on her chest to calm her heart. Rogue had forgotten he was there. “Jesus, Cajun. Do I need to put bells on you?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever tried anything with bells, but there’s a thought no?”

“No, it’s not a thought,” she snapped. She walked towards the door, ready for this misstep to be over with. “Now come on, we need to get somewhere with a computer and an internet connection.”

He followed her out towards the garage, a set of keys spinning on his finger. “Still haven’t told me who the hell Anna-Marie Da’Canto 

“You’re one to talk, Remmington Etienne LeBeau. I know a fake birth certificate when I see one. You get them fancy lawyers of yours to draw that up last year, or is that your handy work?” she shot back, her irritation at him back in full force.

He shrugged, her words nothing more than air to him, and hit the unlock button for a dark Mazda sitting by the side of the house. “You got your past, I got mine. Just remember if this don’t work, it’s both our hides that’ll be skinned.”

Xxx

A long, quiet half-hour drive later found the two at a small internet cafe in Bayou Gauche, an old, battered laptop in front of Rogue. She didn’t care to think about where Remy had gotten it from. Across from her he shuffled through a new deck of cards while he kept an eye on the cafe around them. They hadn’t spoken more than ten words since they’d arrived, and Rogue was content to sip her coffee as she waited for the phone to ring.

As little time as they’d spent together, it was surprising how easy it had become to recognize his tells. Today his shuffling was slower, more contemplative if she could call it that. At City Hall it had been flashier while they’d waited in the cheap plastic seats, his fingers dancing with the cards as he cut, shuffled, and recut them to pass the time. Now he cut them with one hand over and over, no shuffling to be had.

‘Ain’t nothing to worry your head ‘bout. Ole’ Remy’s just not good with sitting around waiting,’ his psyche whispered to her. She closed her eyes and rolled the patois around in her head, and not for the first time wished he was this open in real life.

‘Keep trying to tell you he would be if you were willin’ to open that door,’ he whispered once more before disappearing under the waves of her mind.

A loud ringtone made her start, and she reached for the phone between them. 

“I’m here, Kit.”

“Secure connection?”

“Remy says it is,” Rogue told her as she woke the computer up from it’s sleep. 

“Remy?” Kitty screeched. “I need deets, ASAP.”

Hearing his name come out of the phone, Remy glanced up. Rogue winced, realizing too late she hadn’t mentioned him. “He’s helping me with something.” The line was silent, prompting Rogue to add, “I promise I will tell you every last detail when I get home.”

Kitty huffed on the other end of the line. “Fine. But you’d better not leave anything out. I have my way of finding out, you know.”

“Facebook and Instagram don’t count,” Rogue said. 

“Just because you think they’re the spawn of the devil,” Kitty said. There was chatter in the background and Rogue heard someone talking to Kitty. When it was quiet again, Kitty said, “Okay, what do you need from me?”

“A birth certificate, for starters. The one Mystique set up doesn’t have a paper trail behind it. The only Anna-Marie Da’Canto is an old woman in Biloxi.”

“Which means you also need a new social security card I’m guessing. And school records and credit scores.” Kitty mumbled to herself and Rogue could hear typing over the phone.

Rogue breathed out the tension she’d been holding in. The last time Kitty had forged government papers, she’d gotten in major trouble on the national level. It took an act of Xavie, God, and stopping a rampaging Juggernaut to straighten that one out, and it was only recently Kitty had been allowed on a computer again. Rogue had gambled that Kitty’s natural inclination to test the limits of her computer skills would win out over her fear of federal conviction.

“Name and date of birth?” 

Rogue spelled it out. “October 31, 1991.”

“Halloween? Could you be anymore morbid?” Kitty teased. “County and state?”

“Better make it one in Kentucky,” she said. Remy stood and nodded towards the counter, a peace offering of sorts. Rogue shook her head. “And I’m not being morbid, Kit. We always celebrate my birthday on Halloween.”

“Only because you refused to let us know your real birthday. Alright, we have one Anna-Marie Da’Canto, born in Madison, Kentucky. Parents Joe and Marie Da’Canto welcomed you into the world on October 31, 1991.” 

Keys clicked about in the background and a laugh came from the front of the cafe. Rogue glanced over her shoulder and found a group of teenagers walking into the store. She looked to Remy who shook his head. Nobody he knew.

“What are you doing with Gambit anyways? You said you were done with him after the last mission.”

Rogue licked her lips. She glanced up to make sure he was still at the counter. “He was in trouble, Kit. I couldn’t just leave him to it.”

Kitty snorted. “You’ve left people in worse situations. Or need I remind you of the Bayville Mall incident involving one of the Brotherhood slobs, a quarterback, and our very own Boom Boom?”

“That’s different and you know it, Kit. She’d been playing the both of them like an Atari for months. It was bound to blow up in her face eventually.”

“And he’s different how?” Kitty asked. 

She was close enough to the root of the problem that Rogue couldn’t argue it.

“He offered me something I couldn’t refuse,” Rogue finally admitted. 

Remy came back with a paper cup and two sandwiches. He placed one in front of Rogue before biting into his own.

“God, you’re making him sound like the Mafia. His family is super shady,” Kitty said.

“He ain’t far from it,” Rogue muttered. She picked at the sandwich only to find he’d brought her a tuna melt. She pushed it away from her.

Kitty sighed, and all three sat in silence while Kitty worked.

“The good news is Mystique already set up an educational and medical trail for you. All the documents you need are in that email address I sent you. Anything else you need?”

Rogue opened up the browser, already logged into the burner account, and scrolled through them. As usual, Kitty had outdone herself. She turned the computer around for Remy’s scrutiny. He nodded his approval after looking them over.

“These are perfect, Kit. I owe you one.”

“Anytime. Guess that means we’re even for Lance sneaking in?”

“We’re never going to be even for those images, but I’ll let it slide,” Rogue teased.

Kitty laughed. “It wasn’t that bad. Besides if you knew how to know you would have known the room was occupied.”

“And how was I s’posed to know what y’all were up to? Wasn’t like you left me a neon sign or anything.” She picked at the crust, still not hungry enough to eat it. 

“Please. A sock around the doorknob would have the entire mansion trying to break in.”

“A sock around the door knob? What’d you do, join Animal House while I was gone?” Remy snickered, and Rogue rolled her eyes. “No comment from the peanut gallery, cajun.”

“Rogue?” Kitty’s voice was hesitant.

“Hmm?” 

“Just, be careful, alright? I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t want to. Not until you’re ready to share. But I don’t trust him.”

“That makes two of us. I’m too far in to back out now though,” Rogue admitted.

“We’re just a call away. If you need anything -”

“I know Kit. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Kitty said before the connection cut off.

“They really your family, huh?” Remy asked. 

He’d watched her through the conversation, and Rogue had been able to ignore him while she’d been on the phone. Now that they were alone again, it felt awkward. Strained. 

She nodded. 

“We’ll head back there when all this is over,” he said with an air of finality. “‘’less you got other places to be?”

“We? I thought you said we’re getting an annulment,” Rogue said, shocked at his decision.

Remy grinned and winked. “Can’t after we consummated things. Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

Rogue threw her sandwich at him and he dissolved into a fit of laughter.


End file.
